Whatever Comes Next
by Robin830
Summary: When a new threat emerges in Zootopia, both Nick and Judy are faced with unforeseen challenges; challenges that require them to muster courage, take chances, and face the past... whether they want to or not. They must decide who to trust, who to fear, and who to love—all while saving Zootopia from impending peril, of course. (May contain mild language and violence.)
1. And So, Bogo Did

When a new threat emerges in Zootopia, both Nick and Judy are faced with unforeseen challenges; challenges that require them to muster courage, take chances, and face the past... whether they want to or not. (May contain mild language and violence.)

* * *

 **Wassup, guys.**

 **This isn't my first go-around with fanfiction; I've delved pretty deep before, writing-wise. I got out of it for a couple years, but then I got hooked on Zootopia and just couldn't help myself! Lord help me…**

 **Fair Warning: I am a college student with homework to do and rent to pay, so I won't be able to update super-often. (I wish I had the time to, writing this was so fun.) I also, admittedly, procrastinate. Sorry… it's true… I know, I'm horrible. But this stuff is the only thing that keeps me sane, so I'll eventually come around to it.**

 **So, I've noticed a bit of negativity towards OCs. Not sure why? Is the act of creating OCs bad? Maybe I'm just perceiving it wrong or something? I never thought OCs were bad (as long as you handle them well), but whatever. I made plenty of OCs in this fic, haha. :):):)**

 **I just want to let you guys know that, while this fic may or may not contain some WildeHopps stuff, I intend to try my best to make this story enjoyable for those who aren't okay with Nick-and-Judy stuff. :)**

 **WARNING: Light language.**

 **Hope ya'll like it.**

 ***is wondering if the moon thing is too corny***

 ***decides corny is a good thing***

 **(Edited for some small typos. They were bugging me...)**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE:** _ **And So, Bogo Did**_

 _ **... ... ...**_

"There have been fifteen prey deaths caused by this drug," Bogo was yelling, shaking the large yellow file folder in his hoof to reemphasize the severity of the situation. _"Fifteen,_ Director Wraqune! And you're going to tell me that it's just…" the water buffalo struggled to find the words. "… _ripples_ of the disaster that Bellwether left behind after her whole Nighthowler incident?!"

"With all due respect, Chief, I cannot give you my services upon a _theory,_ " the raccoon replied, his dark eyes peering across the desk that he sat behind. His emerald-green silk tie glinted in the light of the setting sun, which was stretching his pink fingers into the tall window of the office ZIA Director Emerson D. Wraqune occupied. "Maybe Furboario would have, but I cannot. My agents' services are more valuable elsewhere."

"Director," Bogo chided, slapping the files onto the desk with rage. "You just came into this position. You have to realize, you cannot—the _ZIA_ cannot—let something like this slip through your fingers! It's inexcusable." Bogo gestured to the pictures that had fallen from the folder with a quick jab of his hoof.

The raccoon glanced down at them, his brows furrowing. A teenage deer, female, still in her orange-and-blue cheerleading uniform, which was now drenched in red. A ram, male, slightly pudgy and dressed in a nice brown suit, mangled and distorted. A mouse, male. An elephant…

Wraqune waved it off with a flick of his hand. "It will die away, just as the Nighthowler incident did." He abruptly turned away from Bogo, as if to say, _This conversation is over._

Bogo gave a loud scoff. He wasn't going to give up on his city that easily. "The incident didn't die away, Director. My officers put an end to it! It would never have ended if Officer Hopps and Wilde had not—"

" _Enough_ about that stupid fox and foolish bunny!" Wraqune suddenly snapped, his black lips curling up in a slight snarl. "I'm tired of hearing about them. They're old news, Bogo."

The anger that was erupting in Bogo's chest grew ten times hotter- not only at Wraqune's aggression, but the direct insult at his officers. Bogo took a deep breath, oxygenating his blood calls and willing himself to calm down. "The impact of Bellwether's incident is continuing to shake Zootopia, Director. You are correct… and this drug may have been a product of that. But I believe that this is a whole different incident, a drug ring that predators are getting involved in out of their own free will. It's endangering prey's lives, as well as their own."

"They are predators who are _druggies,_ who want to get a high, Bogo! Open your eyes," Wraqune countered, leaning across the desk; he pushed the images of the murdered prey to the side as if they were nothing, just garbage that was in his way. "If your officers can solve the Bellwether case, they can solve this drug problem; besides, what's saying that it is not some of Bellwether's old goons trying to finish what she started?"

The water buffalo was struggling to not punch the raccoon in his snide little snout. _Calm down, bud. He is your superior, and socking him won't convince him to help._ "Because, Director, the effects of the drug are temporary," Bogo answered, trying to battle with facts instead of empty words. "How would that benefit Bellwether's cause? And currently, it's causing more harm to prey than to preds. We still haven't found most of these victims' attackers, and who we have won't talk."

Wraqune leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. He adjusted his green tie. "Well then," he said, his voice lower, gruffer, calmer than before. "Your fantastically clever officers better get to it."

Bogo clawed the recesses of his strategic brain to think of a way to get to Wraqune, to convince him to provide the ZPD some assistance in the case. "You… have a son, don't you, Director?"

Wraqune cocked a brow. "Yes, I do. I have two."

"One is adopted, is he not?"

Wraqune shrugged and nodded in reply.

Sending the raccoon a somber glare, Bogo took a small step back. "What's his species, if you don't mind me asking?"

The ZIA Director scoffed. "He's a hare _,_ Bogo. What are you getting at?"

"A _hare,_ " Bogo repeated, putting heavy emphasis on the word. "A prey. Just like these victims." He motioned to the pictures that had been pushed to the side, all grey and red and deadly black. "What if it had been your son that had been mauled by these drug-induced acts of savagery?"

Bogo let this question hang in the air for a moment. Judging from the slightly shocked expression and the tensed shoulders of the raccoon, he thought he had the Director hooked.

For a second, but only a second, Bogo was flooded with relief and triumph—until Wraqune's face had morphed into a physical representation of genuine hate. He bore his sharp teeth, and they glinted with saliva and rage.

"You do not know _anything_ about my son." His voice was lined with a growl. The raccoon pointed aggressively at the door. "Get the hell out of my office."

And so, after gathering up the pictures of the murder victims, Bogo did.

... ... ... ... ...

 _Two Weeks Later_

Judy loved the night, and it was because of the moon.

To any assuming mammal, Judy would have preferred daytime—it made sense, with her optimistic attitude and upbeat personality. But, the truth was, Judy was too busy during the daytime to befriend the sun; in return, the sun was too busy to befriend her. They were acquaintances who enjoyed each other's company, and nothing more.

But the moon? For the longest time, the moon was Judy's closest friend.

Mr. Moon, she called him.

When all her siblings were asleep and her mother and father were getting ready for the night, Judy would sneak to her window and whisper all her desires and secrets up into the sky, watching them float upward like paper in the wind. Even after she grew too sleepy to express her feelings aloud, she dreamed. She knew Mr. Moon listened to those as well—her dreams. He was a fat, wise old monk, with a gentle soul that expressed a certain serenity that Judy could scarcely find in BunnyBurrow with all the hustle-and-bustle of hundreds of hyperactive rabbits. No one ever stopped to listen or relax, always doing, always going…it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if that someone was just a floating mass in the sky.

As she got older, she talked with Mr. Moon less and less, but only because her dreams were coming to fruition. At fifteen, she got a job filing paperwork and bookkeeping for the BunnyBurrow Police Department; it was boring, but it got her a little taste of the job, right? Better than nothing. At eighteen, she got a full-on internship with the department—also boring, mostly since much of her job was _still_ filing paperwork, but it was a step. She also got into a nearby university, where she majored in Law Enforcement with a minor in Investigative Principles. After graduating, she worked hard to pay off what her academic scholarships didn't pay for; once in a comfortable financial position, she hauled tail to the Zootopia Police Academy and didn't look back.

She never stopped being friends with the moon, though. Occasionally, she would talk to him about how fantastic everything was going and how her dreams were becoming real—and he would listen, just as he always did. Always patiently lazing away in his hammock of stars, waiting for the next spiel of pent-up-Judy-excitement.

Judy was very upset when she moved to Zootopia and discovered that the light and smog of the city blanked out her dear old friend. Nonetheless, every time she accomplished something, every time something good happened, she would send the same thought up to the sky: _See? I told you so._

Not that he had never believed her.

She still talked to him, when she didn't feel like it was too crazy.

Was that weird, to talk to the moon? Probably. But Judy was a weird bunny. Despite her knowledge of her weirdness, she never told anybody about her late-night conversations with the kind old spirit.

Not even Nick, who took his place on top of her _Best Friend_ _List_ all in a matter of days, right next to Mr. Moon. More likely above Mr. Moon, if Judy was being honest, but only because Nick actually talked back to her—and, truth be told, he was just as patient and willing to listen as Mr. Moon was. When he felt like it, of course.

But Mr. Moon was the only one Judy felt she could turn to when she arrived back at her apartment, 12:43 am, September 2nd, 2016. When she opened her creaky door very slowly, as to not wake the easily-disturbed-and-equally-disturbing Bucky and Pronk. When she rubbed her eyes and closed the door behind her, grumbling about tiny mice robbers in tiny mice cities. When she stepped on an envelope on the floor that was most likely pushed through the crack under her door, stuck to a Pawst-It note that said: "Check your mail now and again, bunny -Mrs. Armadillo."

When she inspected the envelope, which had a _BunnyBurrow Bank & Trust _logo on the top right corner.

When she messily opened it and read the contents.

...

 **Judith Laverne Hopps,**

 **We are writing to inform you of your payment due date in regards to your loan taken out in the amount of $6,254.78 on January 7th, 2015, which is under file described as:** _ **Zootopia Police Academy funds**_ **.**

 **The full amount is due on October 12** **th** **, 2016, and is to be paid directly at our BunnyBurrow Bank & Trust location. Failure to do so will result in the repossession of the money directly from your paycheck, starting on Oct. 13** **th** **, 2016.**

 **With any further questions, please contact us at (867)473-9274, or email us at .com.**

 **Regards,**

 _Francesca R Thistle_

 **Francesca R. Thistle**

 **BunnyBurrow Bank & Trust President**

...

Judy was dumbfounded.

She let the letter still clasped in her paw fall to her side. Her heart had dropped, and was currently rolling around somewhere amongst her small intestine.

Repossession of money directly from her paycheck?

Was that even legal?

After hurriedly looking up regulations from some of her law books through the sleep in her eyes, she soon found that it was, after a certain length of time.

But she had paid back most of her student loans, and by the established due dates. Doesn't that give her at least a little wiggle room to pay for her training at the Academy? Six thousand dollars was more than she currently had in her savings account—there was no way she could fork over that much money and still make rent. And, on top of that, that day was September 2nd—she had only a little over a month to scrape the money together.

Judy reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, quickly swiping to unlock it and punching in Nick's number. She needed to talk to somebody.

But something stopped her right before she pressed the _call_ button. She swallowed as she eyed Nick's contact picture, a photo of him grumpily sporting a _Gazelle_ t-shirt; he had his usual half-lidded impassive gaze that he directed at the camera, all a cover-up for the fun Judy insisted he was having. Judy was beside him in mid-jump, ears perked and arms spread wide, wearing an enthusiastic smile and a shirt to match Nick's.

She couldn't tell Nick about this… not yet, anyway. He would probably insist on giving her some of his money that he had saved up to help pay it off in time, and she definitely didn't want that. Nick had his own rent to pay. Not only that, Judy was an independent bunny—a prideful bunny. If she was going to make it in Zootopia, she was going to do it on her own.

No, she couldn't tell Nick. She couldn't worry him. With a sigh, she shoved her phone back in her pocket.

That was when, for the first time in quite a long time, Judy turned to Mr. Moon and cried. She sat on her bed and looked out the window, imagining he was there, still relaxing in his star-woven hammock. But through her tears and the lights of the city and the smog that hung in the air, she had a hard time envisioning him.

That was also the first time in a long time—forever, in fact—that Judy wasn't sure he was listening.

... ... ... ... ...

Nick Wilde flicked his claw against the lid of his coffee cup impatiently.

 _Flick. Flick._

He was leaned back against the front desk of the ZPD, trying his best to ignore the sound of Clawhauser shoving the second of many chocolate doughnuts into his mouth. He watched the front entrance coolly but diligently—the ZPD was relatively busy, albeit a bit more sluggish than usual, more than likely due to the steady rain that had pressed its way across Zootopia that day. Storm clouds brewed outside, and light thunder growled throatily in irritation. Nick's fur was still damp from his walk from the bus stop.

 _Flick. Flick._

Judy was late.

Judy was never late.

 _Flick. Flick._

Normally, Nick wouldn't have been too freaked out, even with the state of the weather—he knew Judy could handle herself- but it was a grand total of eleven minutes before the 7:00 lineup in the Bullpen. On-time for Judy was thirty- to forty-five minutes early; late was fifteen to twenty. Anything later was unacceptable. Nick couldn't count how many times Judy nagged Nick for arriving only ten minutes before roll call ( _"It's not professional!"_ ), or how many times she insisted on him getting at least coffee the next morning for inconveniencing her so.

Hence, Nick's worry.

 _Flick, flick, flick._

"Nicky, chill out, she'll come," Clawhauser insisted through his fourth doughnut. Nick could hear his swallow. "A little rain wouldn't stop Judy."

 _It's not the rain I'm worried about._ Flashes of Judy stranded somewhere in a muddy ditch appeared in his mind, and he quickly pushed them out. "I'm _so_ going to make her pay for coffee tomorrow."

"And breakfast!" Clawhauser piped up, waving the second-half of number four in the air. Sprinkles skittered across the countertop; some lightly hit the uniformed elbow Nick was using to support his weight. "I want cinnamon rolls tomorrow."

Nick chuckled, and glanced back at his rotund feline friend. "I got you, Spots."

"Thanks, Nicky," Clawhauser cheerfully replied. "Oh, you heard that the pred that mauled the elk yesterday was caught, right?"

Nick raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? That's great."

"Pfft, yeah. It would be even greater if they found the other thirteen that are out there." Clawhauser licked a sprinkle off his finger.

"Any positive drug test?"

Clawhauser shrugged. "I dunno, I think it's still in the lab. They're pretty sure he was on something."

Nick gave a small sigh, and sipped his coffee. "How strange. Normally I would say it had something to do with Lambchop, but it's not looking that way now."

Squeaking out a happy giggle, Clawhauser poked Nick's shoulder. "I'm sure everything will just dandy here soon, Nick! Especially with you and Judy around."

Nick chuckled, brushing off his sleeve in case Clawhauser's finger had donut residue. "You know it, Spots." There was chocolate smeared on the right corner of Clawhauser's mouth, but Nick didn't say anything. He just smiled his signature coy smile and focused his attention back toward the double-doors.

 _Flick. Flick._

A small, bunny-shaped figure appeared on the other side of the rain-spattered glass door; Nick felt his ears perk up slightly at the sight of it. Was it Judy?

But the animal that quickly pressed though the door and onto the marble floor was not Judy. This rabbit was not a rabbit, but in fact a hare; a male hare, with a shade of fur that was slightly lighter than Judy's, broader shoulders, and a much calmer demeanor. He was also quite a bit taller, but that was expected of a hare.

Nick also noticed a nicely-tailored dark grey suit beneath a damp black trench coat, and a flat-brim trilby hat that folded down the hare's black-tipped ears and hid most of his face.

Nick appreciated a well-tailored suit.

 _Flick, flick, flick._

The hare casually walked toward the elevators, as if his presence at the ZPD was a common occurrence; although, in fact, it wasn't. Nick had never seen him before. Nick spent eighty percent of his time here; surely if this hare came around often, Nick would've caught a glimpse of him.

 _A new lawyer, maybe?_

Nick took a gulp of his coffee, which was more sugar and cream than coffee, but provided an equal amount of rejuvenation from the lack of sleep the night before. He watched the hare press the elevator button over the brim of his coffee lid.

"Eight minutes until roll call!" Clawhauser exclaimed, and Nick could hear him stressfully stuff another doughnut in his mouth.

"Hey, Spots, slow down, wontcha? Save one for Judy," Nick jived, glancing back at the cheetah. He chuckled. "What is that, number seven?"

"Number _six!"_ Clawhauser whined, his cheeks full of pastry.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm glad you like them, big guy."

 _Flick. Flick._

Nick focused his attention back on the hare, who was now entering the elevator between a deer and a lion, who were exiting. The hare turned in place and pressed one of the top buttons to take him to his desired floor.

"Y'know, Nick, I really think you should call Judy, I know I said she would be fine but it's seven minutes 'til roll call and…"

Nick tuned out Clawhauser's rambles for a moment and watched (mostly with curiosity, with just a little bit of street-induced suspicion) this hare wait for the doors to close. No other mammal entered the elevator; a small ferret passed by, obviously thinking about slipping inside, but the hare was intimidating and the ferret was small and meek. She hunched past the elevator and opted for the one next to it.

There was a small _ding!_ and the elevator doors began to close.

Nick sniffed, and took another sip of his cream-with-some-coffee.

 _What a strange hare._

But just as the elevator doors were about to shut and cut off Nick's view of the mammal, the flat-brim trilby hat tilted slightly upward to reveal a face. This face, marked with black fur and intensity, possessed a set of hardened grey-blue eyes that, to Nick's shock, immediately set their glare directly on him. The message was clear: _I know you've been watching me._

The elevator doors closed, and Nick scratched his neck uncomfortably. _Uh. Well. That was… awkward._ He flicked his cup again. _I guess not all bunnies look cute in hats._

Or, hares. Whatever, same difference.

Clawhauser hadn't ceased his ranting. "…Nick, it's _five minutes_ to roll call, and I don't see—"

"Sorry I'm late!" a familiar voice called out, and both predators turned to find Judy Hopps, her fur damp and her breathing heavy, running up to the front desk. "I'm here, I'm here."

"Four minutes to roll call, my dears!" Clawhauser announced.

Judy sighed and nodded without replying, thrusting one hip generously outward as she motioned to Nick for morning sustenance. Her tail vibrated furiously to rid itself of rain droplets that had accumulated on the fur there.

Nick thought about playing keep-away with Judy's now-lukewarm coffee for a moment, but then decided against it due to their time constraint. He handed the bunny her beverage. "Cutting it a bit close, don't you think, Carrots?"

Judy swiped the coffee from his paw and scoffed, rapidly shaking one of her feet to dry it off a bit. "Yeah, yeah. I got the coffee tomorrow, I know." She sighed, deeper this time, as she took an offered doughnut from Clawhauser. The feline gave a small coo of sympathy.

"I'm good, I'm good." A deep, long drink of coffee, a sleeve-wipe of the mouth. "Let's just… get to roll call or the Chief will probably have our heads."

That was when Nick noticed: she had deep purplish-grey circles under her eyes. Her normally well-groomed fur was matted, her ears were droopy, and she was not nearly as peppy as usual. And a bit irritable, too, Nick observed, and Judy was never _irritable._

Nick then decided that something was up, and immediately withdrew his guns.

"You're right, Carrots. You know, it's funny how much he says _I don't care_ to everything, but he suddenly cares if we're thirty seconds late to roll call." Nick chuckled as they fast walked toward the Bullpen, giving a doughnut-occupied Clawhauser a quick farewell nod. "But, you never know with Bongo-Buns."

That nickname was more of an inside joke than a play on words; it involved a Pawaiian-themed birthday party for an officer, a set of bongos, and a Bogo who had a little too much of the party punch. Long-story short, Bogo thought the bongos were a chair, ended up breaking through the membrane, and getting them stuck on his rear end.

That nickname _always_ made Judy laugh, but this time, it only enticed a small chuckle. "Yeah…" she replied unenthusiastically, and took another long gulp of her coffee.

Nick cocked one eyebrow, but didn't press her any further. Something was definitely wrong.

 _Flick flick flick flick._

 _... ... ... ... ..._

Chief Bogo, with his clipboard in hoof and his glasses shoved back into his shirt pocket, fumbled to take hold of the correct key to the door of his office, which he currently stood in front of.

"Ugh," he mumbled to himself has he finally found the appropriate key, and slid it into the lock. "If I must do any more paperwork, it'll be the end to the Chief of Police. I'd rather do parking duty than more paperwork." After a pause, he grunted. "Who am I kidding? No, I wouldn't."

He started to turn the key when he realized, with a jiggle, that his door was already unlocked. Chief Bogo had a small habit of not locking up his office. He had been good about it recently, especially since Clawhauser's discovery of Bogo's interest in Gazelle; it had been one too many times that Bogo had walked in to neatly-wrapped gifts of Gazelle merchandise placed strategically around his office. Which would have been acceptable, had not one time Bogo come in with the mayor and a life-size cutout of Gazelle was found standing in the back corner with a note that read, _"I thought you would enjoy this, Chief! -Clawhauser"._

Bogo still brought the cutout home. He a had never necessarily been a sneaky mammal, but he certainly became one the night he snuck it out of the building.

Bogo felt troubled for only a moment at his forgetfulness, shrugged, and then opened his office door as he simultaneously peered at the markings on his clipboard. "I can't see a bloody thing without my glasses…" he mumbled, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

He glanced up, just about to make his way to his desk, and was taken aback at the small figure that sat in one of the two large guest chairs that occupied the room.

Bogo immediately grunted in disapproval. He did not like surprises. "Good morning, sir," he forced out, and glanced at the coat rack beside his bookshelf—a long coat and hat, raindrops still beaded on the fabric from the mammal's walk in the rain, hung lazily on one of its arms. "Did you have an appointment?"

The mammal, which Bogo now identified as a hare from his long ears and lean physique, only turned his head toward Bogo slightly. He could not yet see the mammal's face.

There was a short pause. Bogo was not a patient buffalo. He sniffed, trying to keep his impatience in check. He made himself a mental note to lecture Clawhauser for his failure to keep Bogo updated with his appointments.

"Is there some way I can help you, sir?" Bogo stood in his place. Until the hare identified himself, he would not get comfortable.

"Chief Bogo," the hare suddenly said, his voice rough with the hint of a British accent. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance properly."

The chief was done with all the nonsense. He folded his muscular arms, trying to convey to the hare his level of seriousness. "And you are…?"

"Oh, my apologies." All in one slow but precise motion, the hare slid off the large chair and into a slight bow. One paw was pressed tightly to his abdomen, the other held behind his back. Bogo had grown unfamiliar with this British formality since he moved to Zootopia. "Jack Savage, Chief."

Bogo scratched the underside of his chin. "I've heard that name before… I couldn't tell you where, though." Shrugging, he let his hoof fall back to his side. "I apologize."

The hare named Jack Savage chuckled, and lifted out of his bow. "Don't," he replied, shoving one paw into his pocket and cocking a brow. There were three streaks of dark fur that stretched across his cheekbones on each side of his face; along with his steely eyes, this gave him a certain hardened air that one would not normally find in his species. "That means that the MI6 have been doing their job well."

"The MI6." This was more of a statement than a question, but Bogo was not a trusting mammal; any creature could flaunt into his office with an accent, pretending to be someone from MI6.

Bogo's doubts were rebuked when the hare flashed him a MI6 ID, with _Jack Savage_ printed right below the MI6 emblem. Bogo then fell into realization: this was the agent MI6 told him they would send. Their best agent, apparently. Who was, coincidentally, a rabbit—more technically, a hare.

What was with the universe wanting him to work with bunnies?

Bogo puffed a breath of air out his nose—he decided to begrudgingly accept the fact that, in order to do what had to be done, he would have to make room for yet another bunny hero.

Bogo reached out his hoof, and Jack took it. They exchanged a firm and fleeting handshake.

"Thanks for coming, Agent Savage," was all Bogo said.

"Anything for a friend of the MI6," was the reply. "And please, call me Jack."

Bogo just gave a gruff nod, and withdrew his hoof.

Jack peered up at the water buffalo, his gaze unreadable. "If you don't mind me saying so, Chief," he said, "you do not seem very surprised at my…" He sniffed. "…species."

Bogo thought about Officer Hopps and her annoying but admirable determination to show the ZPD time and time again that she was just as capable, if not more, than the rest of them. He also thought, more notably, about her success in that department.

Bogo said nothing for a moment, he just simply peered back down at the agent. Tucking his clipboard under his arm, he began to make his way around his desk to his comfy chair; he didn't want to spend the whole conversation towering over the mammal. "I've learned not to underestimate rabbits too much." Bogo settled into his seat.

Jack folded his arms in curiosity, with a facial expression that showed both his interest and his skepticism. Then, he chuckled; the expression melted. His shoulders relaxed. "Well, I can't say I'm not pleased."

"I would expect you run into that a lot," the buffalo mentioned, crossing his arms across the desk and leaning forward on his elbows. This rabbit was a weird combination of ruggedness and polish, Bogo noticed.

"You mean employers and coworkers dissatisfied at my species? Oh, yes." Jack glanced casually to the wall of bookshelves beside them and crossed his own arms. "Despite that, I try my best to earn their respect. Respect for one's teammates—or lack thereof—can affect a team's performance, as you know. Otherwise…"

He smirked coolly.

"…I wouldn't really care." A shrug. "To be completely honest."

Bogo immediately decided that he liked Agent Savage.

"However, I do apologize for my sudden appearance, Chief." Jack's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I had assumed my superiors had informed you prior to this meeting."

"They hadn't informed me," Bogo replied, "but nevertheless, your presence is greatly appreciated and the speed of your arrival was most professional. Your superiors probably thought you coming in quietly without any notice was the best option, due to the circumstances."

"Well, Chief, I'm glad that you are satisfied."

Bogo offered a sincere nod, which was sort of his replacement for a smile. _I'm just glad they sent someone to begin with._ "Tell the MI6 that I am honored to receive help from them, especially from their best mammal."

Jack gave a small but genuine smile in return. "I am honored to be of help, sir." After a moment, his smile melted, and his mouth twisted in obvious concern. "Though, the question arises, Chief…"

"What would that be?"

Jack shifted from one foot to the other, and shoved his paws deep into his pockets. He focused his eyes seriously on Bogo, his expression solemn. "The problem you have must be dire if you ask for help from MI6 instead of the ZIA."

Bogo tapped the desk with his hoof in thought, though his gaze never left the smaller mammal. He could feel his jaw tightening. "That wasn't a question, Agent Savage."

"Jack," the hare corrected.

"Yes, Jack. Right."

Jack smirked. "The question was implied, Chief. You know that."

Of course Bogo knew that, but the truth of the matter was, he knew Jack wouldn't like the reason for sending his request to the MI6 instead of the ZIA. He wasn't even sure Jack would agree to go through with the mission.

"Well, to answer, Ag—Jack," Bogo replied, sighing heavily and leaning his forehead tiredly into one of his hooves. "It is… quite complicated, to say the least."

Jack gave a good-humored scoff. "If I didn't want to deal with complication, Chief, I wouldn't have joined MI6. Complicated problems are my specialty."

"I do not doubt your abilities."

Jack cocked his head slightly, and replied with just a hint of teasing, "But you doubt the ZIA's abilities?"

Bogo exhaled. "That's just it…it's the ZIA that's the problem."

The beans were officially spilled.

Jack raised his eyebrows; all humor that had been in his expression vanished. Bogo could see that he was in the process of absorbing that statement. He remained silent while the agent gathered his thoughts, focusing his eyes on Bogo but focusing his mind on the weight of Bogo's words.

Bogo was ready to heave a sigh whenever Jack's eyebrows were brought together into a grim frown; his ears, which had been relaxed the entire conversation, were now stiff and pointed with attention.

"Go…" Jack's eyes flashed before he continued. "Go on."

And so, Bogo did.

... ... ... ... ...

Judy felt slightly less tired after her large cup of coffee that Nick had bought for her. With a new cup of lesser-quality coffee that the ZPD supplied in the breakroom, Judy was at her desk, her face three inches away from her computer screen in extreme concentration.

She had just finished paperwork for a fender-bender she and Nick had to attend to, and was now doing some serious research. Nose twitching, eyes focused, and finger clicking rapidly, she slurped her overly-sweetened drink with gusto as she surfed Hoogle, hopping from one site to the next with the type of speed only a bunny could possess.

 _No… let's see, what about this? No, I can't do that…_

"That doesn't look like paperwork, Officer Hopps."

The low, gruff voice scared the daylights out of Judy; her heart leapt in her throat. When she turned in her swivel chair to see who was standing behind her, the heart in her throat immediately dropped to her feet, and then onto the floor somewhere.

"Captain Howlton!" she grimaced, peering sheepishly up at her superior. Gregor Howlton was a towering grey timberwolf with observant eyes and a scowl that never seemed to leave his face. A nice enough guy, but very strict and not afraid to tell Bogo about employees slacking off. Right then, he stood menacingly above the tiny officer, his arms folded and eyebrow quirked as if to say, _I caught you- just give in._

"We didn't special-order you a tiny computer to browse on," Howlton chided.

The rabbit poked her two pointer fingers together awkwardly, her ears flat against her head. _Fantastic, Judy._ "I'm sorry, Captain. I was just…" She racked her brain for an excuse—she desperately wished Nick was there, he would have been able to wiggle her out of this predicament in an instant. "Er…"

Howlton didn't wait or her to reply; he just gave a small puff out of his nose and rolled his eyes. "Reassignment in the Bullpen in 30 minutes, Hopps."

Judy tried to give a convincing smile, and gestured a flimsy salute with one paw. "Yessir! Heh, heh…"

Howlton eyed her incredulously for a moment, studying her silently. It made Judy uncomfortable. What made her even more uncomfortable was when Howlton's grey eyes slid towards her computer screen, which she knew blazed the words: _Restaurants Hiring Weekend Servers! Apply now._

She slowly (and hopefully discreetly) pushed her desk chair so her body was in front of the computer, cutting off Howlton's line of sight to the screen. She didn't want anybody to know that she was looking for a second job, especially not Captain Howlton, who would most likely report it to Chief Bogo if he found out.

But Howlton didn't say anything about her Hoogle searches, and didn't make it known if he had actually seen them. Instead, he simply paused; Judy felt a jolt of fear thud against her chest at the silence. She mentally began to prepare herself for a lecture.

Judy was surprised when Howlton turned away and lowly mumbled, "Get some sleep tonight, Hopps. You look exhausted," before walking off, his paws clasped firmly behind his back.

Judy only let herself breathe when Howlton turned the corner to another cubicle, wiping imaginary sweat from her forehead exaggeratedly. _That might not be the end of it, but at least he didn't decide to punish me._ Judy sighed in relief, allowing her ears and shoulders to relax.

Then she suddenly felt discouraged. Why did she even try? She couldn't possibly make time for another job, especially with the kind of hours she worked now. Maybe she and Bogo could work something out, concerning her schedule…?

Judy gave a low groan, and glanced towards the list of restaurants that she had pulled up on Hoogle. The Hoogle icon—a little owl—looked way too happy for the current situation he was assisting Judy in. "I don't know why I'm even trying…" she grumbled irritably, taking another long slurp of her coffee.

 _Ping!_

Judy's ears perked up. That was her email notification on her computer. Sure enough, there was a _New Message_ icon in the upper right hand corner. She opened it immediately; it might have been an email from Bogo. She always wanted to be updated on any important information.

It wasn't an email from Bogo; instead it was from Nick. Or, as his contact in her computer read, _The Devilishly Handsome and Clever Officer Nicholas Wilde._ Not her doing, obviously. He probably emailed her because he knew she didn't like the have her phone out while on the clock.

Judy smiled. She needed some comedic relief, especially then. After reading it, she had to hold back a bit of laughter; she covered her mouth with her paw.

...

 _ **CARROTSCARROTSCARROTSCARROTS**_

 _ **You finished that paperwork on the fender bender yet? Please say yes.**_

 _ **You better not be late to this meeting, too, or Blowgo might pop a baby buffalo out his butt. HURRY UP, Fuzz. I dunno about you, but the last thing I need is a Blowgo 2.0.**_

 _ **...**_

This nickname was new. Judy liked it; it was maybe a bit on the inappropriate side, but if anyone became friends with Nick expecting their friendship to be appropriate, they obviously didn't know Nick very well.

Judy didn't hesitate to type a sly response.

... ... ... ... ...

Nick heard his phone's _pingaping!_ through the riff-raff of his fellow officers talking and moving around throughout the Bullpen. Nick smirked; he knew it was Judy. She was one of those mammals who always replied immediately.

He checked it, the screen lighting up to Judy's favorite selfie of the two—Nick looking quite surprised as his rabbit friend jumped up behind him and clicked the shutter button, her face wide with an enthusiastic smile.

Sure enough, there was an email from Carrots. He opened it, his smirk never leaving his face.

...

 _ **Nick, I gotta admit: you are the king of Bogo-name puns. Don't let it get to your big head, though; I'll admit defeat once, and only once.**_

 _ **I did finish the paperwork. You're welcome, dumb fox.**_

 _ **Maybe it would be a good thing for us to have a Bogo 2.0. You'd probably stop taking naps in the breakroom, then!**_

 _ **Let me quickly finish something up, and I'll come. I won't be late this time, haha! Don't get your fluffy tail in a twist.**_

 _ **...**_

Nick gave a low _tch._ If she thought that would make him stop taking naps in there, she was dead wrong. Maybe make him get in trouble more, but not stop his naps; five Bogos couldn't do that. Silly bunny.

A shadow slid over the tabletop in front of Nick. "Wilde."

On slid Nick's trademark smile. He glanced up at the source of the voice. "'Sup, Cap?"

Captain Howlton gave a small, disapproving growl. " _Captain,_ Wilde. You call me _Captain._ "

Nick leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands as if he was about to tell a bit of juicy gossip. "Sure thing, Cap."

Howlton looked like, for a moment, he was going to argue further; Nick almost _wanted_ Howlton to argue with him. Just so Nick could annoy him, mostly.

"Whatever," Howlton said instead, with an eyeroll. Then, the wolf's normally-hard features softened. "Listen, Wilde. I have to discuss something with you."

Wilde held up his hands in mock defense, never letting the coyness slip from his face- he had a reputation to uphold! "If it's about me taking naps in the breakroom, sir, I can explain." Nick spread his paws open, forcing an innocent wideness of his eyes. "You see, most mammals do not realize this about me, but I am actually a very religious fox."

Howlton glared at him incredulously. "Religious."

"Yes, sir. You see, in the breakroom, I was not sleeping. I was merely…" Nick pressed his paws together as if in reverent devotion. "…engaged in prayer." He emphasized the last few words softly, like he was a priest discussing religion with a member of his congregation.

"With _drool_ dripping down your chin?" Howlton snapped back, folding his muscular arms.

Nick gave him a shrug. He allowed his smile to grow wider. "What can I say? I'm focused."

"You let an immense amount of complete and utter crap spill out of your mouth, Wilde." Howlton gave a small snort, rolling his eyes.

"Hey!" Nick interjected, holding up on pointer finger. "My religion in not _crap_ , sir. I demand respect!"

"You're _demanding_ to get written up."

"How awful, a Captain who has no respect for the religion of his officers." Nick shook his head and tutted, sniggering. "What _will_ the department think of your discrimination?"

Howlton scooted forward to let a tall lion officer by. "It would be offensive if there was anything to discriminate against. Instead, you were just being lazy."

Nick faked an exaggerated gasp, holding a paw to his chest in surprise. "Now he's calling his officers lazy for engaging in prayer during their break!"

McHorn, who was beside Nick, had been thumbing through his phone and nonchalantly pretending not to listen to the conversation that was going on beside him. When Nick gave this snide comment, the rhino didn't bother to hold back his amused chuckle; he quickly covered it up with a cough when Howlton sent him a meaningful glare.

Nick leaned back in his chair, admiring his work. _Nick one, Cap zero._

Howlton, instead of admitting defeat, rolled his eyes again. This was a common occurrence between the two; Howlton pretended not to like Nick, and Nick was not shy to give him a reason to.

These mammals' relationship with each other seemed, to any unobservant mammal, based on dislike for one another and butting heads constantly. However, Howlton and Nick seemed to have an understanding; there was an underlying layer that, once exposed, would reveal that the two had a mutual respect. Their back-and-forth bickering was simply their way of friendship.

For Nick, he appreciated Howlton's lack of façade. Nick liked Howlton for the mere reason that Howlton was a _real_ mammal, not an officer that pretended to be okay with Nick's antics. Nick also suspected the reason why Howlton appreciated Nick in return was simply because Nick wasn't exactly a cooperative employee; he had a feeling that Howlton liked him because he wasn't like all the other officers.

Despite the basis of their relationship, Nick enjoyed these competitions of wit with the Captain.

Howlton shifted his gaze from the rhino, who now had his horned nose deep in the something-or-other on his phone, back to Nick. His face suddenly turned very solemn; Nick's didn't. He kept the smile plastered on. "Fortunately for you, Nick, I didn't come to lecture you about your…" He fingered air quotes. "… _prayer."_

Nick snickered. "First and last time I'll hear that," he replied, thinking about how Howlton's interactions with him were ninety-nine percent lectures. "What's up, Cap?"

"It's about your partner."

A wave of concern flooded over Nick. He thought of her baggy eyes, her lateness, her general...lack of _Judy-ness_. He thought about what she had been like that day; silent, impassive, worn-down and unenthusiastic. She even let him pick the music in the cruiser! She _never_ willingly let him do that. And now Howlton was approaching him about her?

"Carrots?" Nick finally let his smile slip off his face. "What about her?"

Howlton glanced to McHorn, who was once again pretending not to listen. Howlton motioned his paw for Nick to follow him; the fox immediately jumped off his chair without arguing. _This can't be good,_ Nick thought, adjusting his tie as he followed the towering wolf out of the Bullpen and into the hallway. He could feel McHorn's suspicious eyes following the pair out the door, along with a few more stares. Instead of ignoring it, he turned and winked at McHorn slyly.

 _Don't let them know that they get to you, Nick._

The rhino grumbled, and focused his attention back on his phone.

Once outside and in a relatively private spot, Nick turned to the wolf and crossed his arms. The perturbed look Howlton wore made Nick's stomach drop a bit. He still forced on a smile. "So, Cap. Did Judy choke on a carrot or something?"

Howlton awkwardly scratched his neck. His eyes shifted to the wall behind them. "Well… I know it's not my business, but you're a good friend of Judy's."

"I'm her best friend," Nick replied shortly; then, he remembered his act, and smiled. Offering his superior a shrug, he continued, "The fact of the matter is, anything you have to say to me I'll eventually find out. It's not like Carrots is a very secretive bunny."

Howlton nodded. "I don't come to you as your Captain to tell you this, I come as someone who is concerned for Judy's well-being."

Dread flooded Nick. "What is going on, Gregor?"

Howlton would have normally flinched at the familiar use of his first name, but he didn't. Instead, he scratched his neck again.

"I went to inform Judy about the meeting. I found her in her cubicle," he muttered, "and I happened to look at her computer screen."

"And it had current pictures of Gazelle? Or cute toddler videos?"

Howlton shook his head.

"Oookay, then was she on Furbook?"

The wolf pursed his lips against his teeth sheepishly. "She was looking up weekend waitressing jobs."

Nick's breath caught in his throat. _Waitressing jobs?_

Howlton hurriedly shrugged, suggesting that he wasn't sure. "It may be nothing. I just noticed that she seemed pretty exhausted and out of it today, and on top of that, looking for a second job? I was just concerned."

Nick was baffled. Why in the world would Judy look for a second job? Judy wasn't by any means rich, but she wasn't poor either. Was she just looking for an extra buck?

"I figured you should know because if anyone could help her, it would be you," Howlton said. "I know it may not be appropriate for me to tell you, but I figured the happiness of my officers was more important than propriety."

 _Don't let them know that things get to you, Nick!_

"I agree," Nick replied. "Thanks, Gregor. I owe you one."

"No problem," Howlton replied, and gave a small smile. "Maybe to repay me, you can stop having your little _prayers_ in the breakroom." His left eyebrow slid up in amusement.

Nick forced a small chortle. "Fair enough. I'll try my best to hold back my religious practices." He was no longer in the mood to continue this battle of wit, however; he was racking his brain for a reason Carrots would do such a thing.

Howlton checked his watch. "Seven minutes till. I better get in there."

"I haven't seen Bogo," Nick commented, following the Captain back to the door of the Bullpen. He said this as more of a distraction for himself, to think about something else other than Judy.

" _Chief_ Bogo," Howlton corrected. Nick didn't bother to hold back a roll of his eyes. "And he's in a last-minute meeting or something. He told me to fill in for him."

The fox nodded as if he understood, when in reality, he didn't. The chief hardly _ever_ missed a roll call or a reassignment; it left Nick with a weird feeling. On top of that, Judy and her strange behavior weighed down on top of Nick like a twelve-ton boulder.

Nick would never say it out loud, but Judy was one of the most important mammals in his life. Any problem she had, he had; if she did have an issue that she thought waitressing might solve, he was hurt that he had to find out through Howlton instead of Judy. Did she not trust him like she's told him so many times before? Did Judy not feel the same way about their friendship as he did?

And more importantly, was Judy _okay?_

The bunny was already in their seat once Nick entered the Bullpen alongside the Captain. When Nick focused on her, the boulder he carried grew double what it was before; she looked so tired and worn down, her violet eyes dull and ungroomed ears droopy. She halfheartedly picked at the wood on top of their table, cheek leaning on paw.

 _Fishsticks,_ he inwardly cursed. _Something_ is _wrong._

Judy said nothing once Nick took his place beside her and Howlton began the meeting five minutes early. At one point, Nick gave her a classic grin and a wink, hoping it would cheer her up; she only returned a forced, weak smile.

Nick decided that this was not good, and that he would have to find out just why Judy wasn't Judy.

... ... ... ... ...

By the end of Bogo and Jack's discussion, three hours had already passed. Jack had shed his suitcoat and pushed the arms of his starched white shirt up to his elbows, the fur on the top of his head messy from his constant rubbing in stress; he was slowly pacing back and forth across the length of Bogo's office, studying the floor ahead of him with a concentration that bordered on unnecessary.

Bogo, who had already had his fair share of inward panic, silently watched the hare contemplate the depth of this issue. His glasses were perched crookedly at the end of his nose, and his hooves were relaxed upon the printed evidence of Bogo's suspicions.

Jack halted suddenly, and looked squarely at Bogo. "You do realize the gravity of your accusations."

"I am well aware," Bogo replied calmly, "And I hope with all of my being that they are not true."

Jack nodded, his sharp eyebrows furrowed. "As do I, Chief." He focused his gaze to nothing in particular, deep in thought. "I hate to admit, but the reasons for your suspicions are well-grounded."

"Your superiors thought so, as well." Bogo laid one hoof on top of the other. "Which is why they sent you, I assume."

"Indeed."

There was a brief few minutes of silence, both mammals simply weighing their discussion. Jack was obviously in a state of perplexity- not just with the complications of the case, but with the possibility that the ZIA was meddling in some things they shouldn't meddle in. If it were true, it would be almost betrayal to the MI6; the two organizations were sister groups, and they walked paw-in-paw throughout a lot of their history.

"Chief," Jack murmured, "if your suspicions _are_ true…"

"…then it could mean a permanently corrupt Zootopia," Bogo finished, willing his voice to not waver. "Yes."

Jack swallowed. Bogo was sure he had faced worse situations before as far as the severity of the actual crimes, but the thought of the ZIA becoming so vulnerable and moldable was frightening, especially to an agent of MI6; it was proof that it could happen to their own organization, as well.

Which, in turn, was bad news for Animatropolis, the cultural center of the United Mammal Kingdom and the headquarters of MI6. Bogo was sure it was like a slap in the face to Jack.

"Okay," Jack suddenly said, rubbing the pads of his paws across his eyes. "Alright…"

"Would you like some water, Agent?"

Jack shook his head, but only slightly. His ears, which had been flattened against his head, perked up. "No, thank you, Chief. I appreciate it." He heaved a deep sigh, closing his eyes and inclining his face toward the ceiling. "So what all do we have?"

Bogo adjusted his glasses, and began to flip through the notes in front of him. "Too much to be comfortable with, but not nearly enough to make an arrest." Bogo heaved a sigh and scratched his neck, papers clutched tightly in one hoof. "So how do we confirm innocence…or guilt?"

Jack paused for a moment before piping in, "Infiltration."

Bogo cocked a brow. "Direct infiltration?"

"No, too obvious. Wraqune knows you're suspicious of him, and will be wary of any new face that approaches." Jack rubbed his chin in thought. "It will have to be the classic cloak-and-dagger."

"Sneaking into _ZIA Headquarters?_ " Bogo took off his glasses so he could focus his vision on the hare, who was currently tapping his foot in concentration. "Is it even possible?"

"Of course it is. There's always a way," Jack answered. "We just have to figure it out."

"Do you have an idea of how it could be done?"

Jack twisted his mouth. "I might… but I won't be able to do it alone." He sighed. "I thought about flying in some fellow agents for a moment, but with the Director being aware of your suspicions, he's probably keeping tabs on all foreign agencies. Bringing in more MI6 agents to Zootopia would catch his eye."

Bogo cleared his throat. He was unsure of how the agent would react to what he was about to suggest, but decided to go ahead and say it anyway. "I have officers who are perfectly capable to assist you on your mission, Agent."

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "With all due respect, Chief, spying is a whole different face of law enforcement."

"Two of my officers solved one of the biggest cases in Zootopia history," Bogo immediately retorted; he had this part prepared. He was not afraid to brag about the competence of his men. "They befriended a mob boss, located and snuck into a top-secret laboratory and prison organized by our previous mayor, discovered fourteen missing mammals, uncovered the location of a drug manufacturer, and hustled the drug lord Bellwether into confessing and leading herself to arrest-all in a total of seventy-two hours…" he shrugged, "…give or take."

Bogo didn't include the fact that Officer Hopps had to go on a month of soul-searching before she discovered the Nighthowler effect; she wasn't actively engaged in the investigation, so he didn't count it. He also didn't bother to mention the fact that Officer Wilde was not an officer at the time… But Agent Savage didn't need to know that, either.

Jack looked genuinely impressed, and to Bogo's satisfaction, quite pleased as well. "Your officers accomplished all that?"

"Above and beyond," Bogo replied, incapable of holding back a triumphant smirk. He leaned back in his office chair. "One has personal experience in the criminal world. An ex-con mammal," he said. "An extreme asset to the force. He has connections all over the city, and knows the ins-and-outs better than most perps do."

"And the other?"

Bogo couldn't help but not reply immediately, stretching out the suspense. "She's strategic, clever, quick-witted. Also, a rabbit," he finally muttered, "not unlike yourself, Jack."

Jack's eyes widened.

There was silence, a kind of silence Bogo didn't know how to interpret.

After a moment, Jack gave a small cough, and loosened his black tie. "I won't say I'm not impressed."

"Certainly, they haven't seen or done as much as you have… but they are not incapable. They're…" Bogo cleared his throat. It was quite a feat for him to admit this. "…they're my best."

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "You're putting a lot of faith in your officers, Chief."

"If I couldn't, I wouldn't be suggesting this to you, Agent."

Jack considered this for a moment, then nodded. Bogo knew he had the agent hooked from the moment he pulled out the fact that Officer Hopps was a rabbit.

Jack rubbed his chin, and stared at Bogo with serious flashes of blue-grey. "I want to meet them."

"That can be done," Bogo agreed.

The hare sniffed in thought. "Normally, I would ask to see their abilities for myself, but it seems that we do not have the time to do such a thing." He gave a slight bow of his head in Bogo's direction. "Not that I doubt your word, Chief, but one can never be too careful."

"I understand, Jack. I don't blame you." Jack was being polite, Bogo knew, but the underlying message was clear: _I would be staking the entire mission your word, so I hope your claims of these officers are true._

Bogo reached for the phone on his desk. "Do you want to meet them right now? I can call for them."

Jack shook his head abruptly, and Bogo withdrew his hoof. "No- let me do some research first. I'll get my tech guys back at MI6 to do some digging into this new Wraqune fellow, see if anything else can be found that we can tuck under our belts." He pulled out a cellular device from his well-pressed slack pocket and deftly punched in a number, his eyes glazed with the white reflection of his phone screen. "Excuse me for one moment."

Jack stepped to the back corner of the room, the cell firmly pressed to his ear. Bogo watched silently, leaning his forehead into his hooves. Just witnessing an MI6 agent organize a way to convict and stop the crimes of Zootopia's own ZIA made his stomach turn.

 _We may be in too deep for us to climb out of,_ Bogo realized, suppressing a groan.

"Hello? Yes, hi. I'm fine, Damon… No, this is a business call." A pause. "Does it matter? I just need you to dig as much info on a raccoon named Emerson Damario Wraqune. Do me a favor, Damon, and don't tell the others about this right now… Yes, of course let Regina know, but no one else." Jack scratched his nose. "Yes, I know it's the ZIA Director. Are you paid to ask questions?"

Bogo shifted uncomfortably.

"That's fine, just make sure you don't send off signals to the ZIA. It would be a surefire way to let Wraqune know that we're investigating him... We don't know what's going on, Damon, we're just considering every possibility. Okay, thanks. I owe you." Jack hung up, and turned back towards Bogo. He was studying the phone, holding it with both paws.

"Well?" Bogo asked.

"They should be finished in the next twelve hours," Jack replied, and proceeded to snap his cell phone in half. He removed the SD card and broke that, as well. "They have to get their way around the ZIA tech without sending red flags."

Bogo nodded, pretending not to be alarmed at the fact that the agent just purposefully broke what had to be at least an eight-hundred-dollar phone. "So, you'd like to meet my officers tomorrow?"

Jack nodded, slipping what remained of his cell phone into his pocket. "Yes. Five in the afternoon, if it suits you. My techies should be done by then."

"Do you want me to inform them on what's going on beforehand?"

"No, no. We'll do all of that during the meeting." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stitched bi-fold wallet, flipping it open to reveal a Zootopian ID with his picture on it. He faced it towards Bogo. "To everyone else, apart from the two officers who I will meet tomorrow, my name is Jackson Russel. I'm an accountant, born in Britain, moved to Zootopia six years ago. I'm here for financial reasons concerning the department."

"Understood." The sickly feeling in Bogo's stomach was growing with every added precaution Agent Savage took to cover up his trail—the broken phone, the tech help, the fake ID. It made the situation seem even more real, more dangerous. While Chief Bogo was used to danger, this was different; it could totally alter the foundation of Zootopia.

Jack seemed to notice Bogo's anxiety, which surprised the buffalo. Not everyone could accurately read him; the agent was obviously good at what he did. "Chief," Jack uttered, taking a step toward him, "this stuff is my job. If I didn't think it was fixable, I wouldn't have agreed to be part of it."

"Yes, I know," Bogo answered. He wanted so badly to go buy a large bean-burger and a pack of beer, lean back in his recliner, and watch baseball all night.

Jack gave him a smile. "So you also know that we _can_ figure out what the ZIA is meddling in… that there's hope for Zootopia."

"I sure as hell hope so."

* * *

 **Annnd, there ya go.**

 **One thing that I found super-challenging with writing this was the godforsaken NAMES. For some reason, I had such trouble coming up with names for my OCs! Like, animal-themed names (Fangmeyer, Trunkaby, Hopps, etc). I must have gone through a hundred stupid wolf-themed names before I decided that "Howlton" wasn't that stupid. If anyone wants to PM me some name ideas, it would be awesome because with the way I'm planning on going with this story, I'm gonna need some. (I'll give credit to you if I use it, of course.)**

 **I must admit, guys, I was super-nervous posting this without a beta. I need one, ya'll! D:**

 **And criticism is welcome. I'll take any chance to improve.**

 **Thank you, everyone, for being so lovely and giving my story a chance. :) I genuinely hope you all enjoyed it. Chau!**


	2. Chocolate or Something

**Hello again! I'm so glad to hear that people enjoyed the last chapter. There were a couple typos (sorry about that), and I realized that in my transfer of the document from Word to the site, it for some reason deleted the BunnyBurrow Bank email. Which was irritating, but oh well. It was supposed to be** bunnyburrowbankandtrust animail . com **, in case you're curious.**

 **And to reply to a comment that HawkTooth made in his/her review (which was to name a specific species that I would need a name for), I don't want to name any specific species because I don't want to give anything away. D: Which kind of contradicts my request I made in the previous chapter, I know. BUT what I really meant was that if you had a certain name that you just randomly thought up, or like, or whatever, you can tell me if you want. Doesn't matter what species… I'll probably end up using them at some point, or using them as inspiration for another name that better fits the story. Or I'll just use normal names if all else fails, lol. :):):):)**

 **I also don't get word caps. Like, do people get bored if the chapter is too long? I've always loved long chapters, as long as the content is relevant; there's more to enjoy. My last chapter was 10k, but I personally felt like it still moved pretty fast.**

 **I just realized I have some really long author comments… I apologize.**

 **Sorry in advance for any typos. Enjoy, my lovelies.**

… … … … … … …

 **Chapter Two: Chocolate or Something**

Nick called Judy on his way home from work. He had just stepped off the bus and into the cold, sparse rain at the time, his hoodie zipped up as far as it could go and his hood shrugged low over his ears. He must have looked really shady- any mammal he passed quietly inched to the farthest side of the sidewalk, sending him cautious glances and holding tight to their purses or bags. Nick just ignored them; he had more pressing matters on his mind.

Nick had, for a large portion of the day, been trying to think of the best way to approach Judy with his concern. His first thought was that he would go up to Judy and demand answers, but quickly decided otherwise; if Judy was emotionally fragile, he didn't want to add any pressure on her. His second thought was to ease it out of her gently; he decided not to do that either, since they were at work and he knew Judy would rather do her job and would probably refuse to assess any personal matters at the time. His third thought was to go to her apartment after work with a carrot-covered pizza to talk about it, but once again decided not to for the simple fact that she looked exhausted and if he showed up, she would insist on staying up and hanging out with him instead of getting sleep like she should.

Which left him with the fourth and final option of a phone call.

Judy had a callback tone, an unsurprisingly peppy _Gazelle_ song about being yourself or some other equally optimistic and inspiring message. Nick was okay Gazelle's music, but he didn't prefer it; he was more of an Kenny Doggins, Elkton John guy. On top of that, Judy was on his most-called list, so he had grown quite weary of this particular song- he didn't bother to hold back a groan as he tried to ignore the over-enthusiastic pop tune and attempted to focus instead on the short but sloshy walk back to his apartment.

 _Finally,_ the song stopped mid-note and there were the muffled noises of a tiny paw bringing a phone to a bunny ear. _"Hello?"_

She usually answered the phone with a chipper "Hi, Nick!" or a sing-song " _Hey_ yyy!"; with this particular greeting, her voice was forced to sound passive and content. Nothing really gave her away, but Nick could just tell. He had been around her enough.

Nick went straight to the point. "Carrots, what's wrong?"

A clear of the throat. _"Wh…What do you mean?"_

Nick passed under a streetlamp; the rain glistened in the dim light, and a few drops that had landed on the end of his nose shone. He blinked, and wiped them away with a finger. "I mean, what's the matter with you?"

 _"There's nothing the matter with me."_

"I'm not stupid, Fluff, you've been acting weird all day."

She gave a tiny, oh-so-familiar huff that Nick may or may not have thought was endearing. _"No, I haven't, Nick. I just didn't get much sleep."_

Nick rolled his eyes, even though he knew she couldn't see it. "You're lying. You bad little bunny." He tutted teasingly, hoping it would incite a giggle from her. "You know, even if I didn't already know that something was wrong, I would still figure out you're not telling the truth because you're an absolutely horrendous liar. Your nose is twitching, isn't it?"

There wasn't a giggle, to Nick's disappointment, only a sniff. _"I-I'm not lying."_ No denial of nose twitches, Nick noted.

"So you _weren't_ looking up waitressing jobs today at work?"

There was a pause, and Nick cocked an eyebrow. He stuck his paw into his jacket pocket and took hold of his keys, his apartment coming into view just down the street.

There was a sigh. _"I thought Howlton would tell Bogo, not you."_

"Well, he didn't. He told me," Nick said. "Quite the tattletale, isn't he?"

 _"I'm sure he was just doing it because he was concerned about me."_ This was said with a slight hitch in her voice. She chuckled; it was light, but not quite a giggle. _"I kinda wish the Captain was a little less considerate."_

"For once, I'm _glad_ that Cap is so observant," Nick snickered in reply. "So are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or are you gonna make me guess?"

 _"You just don't like the fact that Captain Howlton is observant because, besides Chief Bogo, he's the only one who catches you on EweTube while you're on the clock."_

She was right. "That's beside the point, Fluff. You're beating around the bush. Besides, I wasn't the one looking up _waitressing_ _jobs_ on the clock." He scoffed, crossing the street and avoiding the puddles that laced the road; he could see quiet reflections of himself in them, wisps of the red of his fur and the blue of his jacket. "I mean, you, a _waitress?_ Pfft!" The thought of Judy trying to serve a pair of picky elephants greatly amused him.

 _"For your information, I have had my fair share of restaurant work—I was a great waitress."_

"Yeah, okay, that's all fine and good, but that doesn't tell me why you're thinking about being a waitress _now_." He paused at the bottom of the rusted iron stairs that led up to his apartment, one paw rested on the wet and cold pawrail. The freezing rain was starting to seep through Nick's jacket; he could feel his fur begin to dampen. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to shake some droplets from his eyelashes.

" _What's wrong with being a waitress?"_ she insisted, giving that cute huff again.

"Carrots, you love being a cop. You want to dedicate your whole life to it. Why would you distract yourself from nabbing bad guys and 'making Zootopia a better place' with another job unless you really needed it?"

There was silence for a moment. Nick knew she was contemplating his question, and trying to conjure a reply; he waited at the bottom of the stairwell made of chipped black paint and dented metal bars, eager for her to say _something_ that would tell him that she was okay.

There was a small chuckle, and a sigh. _"Nicholas Wilde, worried about me? What an honor."_

That was not the _something_ he wanted.

"Think of it as my end of the bargain, instead," he immediately said in return, always ready with a comment. He chewed on his upper lip. "My worry in exchange for the truth about what's going on with you."

Another much heavier sigh. _"Nick, I'm sorry, I can't tell you quite yet."_

"Yes you can, you're just being the ever-so-stubborn Miss Judy Hopps and don't want to."

She gave a long, exaggerated groan that made Nick roll his eyes. _"Niiiick, don't say that! You're making me feel like I'm betraying you or something."_

"To be honest, it does feel a little bit like that, Carrots."

Nick knew that he hit home when he said that. He probably (definitely) shouldn't have said it, because he knew the first thing she would think of was the press conference during the Nighthowler case and how she had… well, betrayed him; but it was the truth, and Nicholas P. Wilde was a blunt fox. He said it how it was, and Nick was hurt that Judy felt like she couldn't talk to him—especially after she worked extremely hard to get him to hack down his own emotional walls.

 _"I…"_ she began, _"I'm not trying to betray you, Nick. What I'm stressed out with does not concern you."_

"But Carrots, I'm your best frie—"

 _"Well maybe this is one thing I just need to keep to myself right now."_ Her voice was harsh, stony; it was colder than the rain that snaked down Nick's snout. _"Maybe, as my best friend, you could understand that."_

Another truth was that Nick did understand. There were still parts of him he had not yet exposed to Judy—but, on the flipside, these parts were not affecting his ability to function in everyday life like Judy's apparently were.

None of that meant that her statement didn't sting at least a little.

Nick stopped in front of his door. It was black, spattered with rain like everything else was. Someone was playing Frank Swinatra music down the hall; he tried not to listen to it.

Part of him felt that he had to be kind, ease the truth out of her…but he was way too blunt for that. "Carrots, don't bottle it up."

 _"I'm not bottling up anything."_

"Lies! Horrendous, nasty bunny lies!" he proclaimed, desperate to push some humor back into their talk. "Lies that smell of carrots and caramel coffee and fruity perfume and a ridiculous amount of plushies and the extra-spicy curry you like so much, _oh,_ the stinky bunny lies—"

 _"Okay! Okay, I get it,"_ Judy insisted, and sighed. _"I just…"_ A ringing note of hesitation.

Nick twirled his key ring around his finger. "Carrots, from someone who has bottled up feelings since he was twelve, let me tell you that it's not a good idea. You even went through a bunch of crap just to _show_ me it wasn't a good idea."

 _"I know, I know. I'm a hypocrite, aren't I?"_

"Maybe, but at least you can handle that curry. You have taste buds that can withstand the wrath of the gods. That's something to be proud of, Carrots," Nick snickered. "And you have that good-smelling fruity perfume, too, but I don't imagine you would like the taste of that like you do the curry."

She snickered. _"I don't wear perfume, dumb fox. It's my soap."_

"Soap, whatever. Something that smells like strawberries."

 _"It's actually supposed to be floral-scented; freesia, I think."_

Nick was officially too cold to stand outside any longer. He had his usual struggle with unlocking the deadbolt, having to press hard with his hip near the lock so it would click open; he held his phone with his shoulder as he (what he liked to say) booty-bumped the frame. "Freesia, strawberries. To-may-to, to-mah-to."

 _"Nick,_ freesia _and_ strawberries _don't even sound remotely the same."_

"Yes, they do—you just gotta believe." Nick swung open his door. "All you need is faith, trust, and sandwich crusts."

 _"Pixie dust, Nick."_

"I'm _telling_ you, Fluff! To-may-to, to-mah-to!" The LED lights flickered as he flipped the switch in his quite expansive but run-down studio apartment; it sounded like his upstairs neighbor was vacuuming. "And, _crust_ and _dust_ do sound similar. I like my quote better than the flying fawn in that one movie, anyway."

 _"Peter Pan would be ashamed- but whatever makes you sleep at night, sweetheart."_

That nickname surprised him. He used it for her a lot, but not the other way around; maybe this signified that she was feeling better? He hoped so. All these stupid cracks he was making were attempts to do just that; he could feel the IQ level of the whole block lowering with each joke.

But, if it made Judy happy, it made him happy. To Nick, that was worth being stupid over.

Nick smiled, clicked the phone on speaker, and set it on his crowded coffee table as he shrugged off his damp jacket. "So, Carrots, all kidding aside… Are you gonna at least hint at what's going on? I think I deserve to know."

 _"I think you do too,"_ Judy agreed; her voice echoed through the room. Without the background noise of the city outside, Nick could better hear what was going on at Judy's end. It sounded like her noisy neighbors were having quite a heated argument—he wasn't sure what it was about, only that it was ending with a bunch of _shut up_ s and _no, you shut up_ s.

"Lucky and Donk don't seem to think so," Nick chuckled, plopping down into his worn suede sofa and picking up a stray box of crackers he had left on the armrest. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, his phone only inches away and glowing with his contact picture of Judy—she had been squinting at the flash of his camera, which resulted in a very funny expression on her face.

 _"Their names are Bucky and Pronk, and I'm pretty sure they're arguing about something else entirely,"_ she replied. _"But that's not the point."_

"You're right, Fluff, it's not. Get to it." He tossed a cracker in his mouth, and grimaced; _stale._

Judy sighed, the sound light and quiet in the vast space. Bucky and Pronk had quieted down- at least, for the moment.

 _"Nick,"_ she began, _"I honestly don't know what exactly is going on right now. I don't want to say anything until I know exactly what is happening and what I need to do, so…"_

He raised his eyebrows, focusing his vision from a second cracker pinned between his claws to the dorky contact picture of Judy. "So…?"

 _"So, let me just… I'll tell you, I swear. Just let me assess it first, okay?"_

Nick rolled this request around in his mouth, trying to get a taste for it. He could respect what she asked of him, certainly; that didn't mean he liked it. He hated being kept in the dark—but, he also had to acknowledge the fact that Judy was a mammal like everyone else. She had a right to privacy.

"Fine," Nick finally decided, his mouth bitter with uneasiness and stale cracker. "But you have to promise me something, Fluff."

 _"Yeah, of course, Nick. What is it?"_

Nick couldn't help but smile her immediate consent. "Promise that one—you'll get sleep. Whatever problem you have won't get fixed by lack of sleep. I don't need you only running on three cups of coffee all the time, that's wayyyy too much caffeine for a bunny. It can't be healthy."

She chuckled lightheartedly; it made a smile tug at the corner of Nick's lips. _"Fair enough. I can do that."_

"Secondly…" he continued, "…you absolutely cannot let it control you. You have not been yourself today." He was waving his pointer finger at the phone, as if it was Judy instead of an inanimate electronic device. "Assess the problem, do what you gotta do, but don't stress out twenty-four-seven. That won't fix it either."

 _"I… I'll try my best. You know me, though, I worry about everything."_

"I do know that, which is why you have me," Nick replied with a chuckle, dropping his cracker back into the box.

" _Unfortunately."_ She giggled.

Nick couldn't help but grin at her laughter, which he had been trying to squeeze out of her for about eighty percent of the phone call. _There we go, that's my girl._ "You know you love me, dumb bunny."

 _"Do I know that?"_ Nick could practically feel her smirk through the phone.

He smirked back, already knowing the remainder of her reply. "Get some sleep, Carrots. Don't forget the coffee and cinnamon rolls."

 _"I won't."_

… … … … …

On Wednesday, September 3rd, 2016, Benjamin Nate Clawhauser was ninety percent sure he had a heart attack.

It wasn't, like one would assume, from his bad eating habits. Oh, no no no. It was a shock-induced heart attack- this shock came all at once and didn't go away for quite a while. It happened about twenty minutes after roll call in the Bullpen, when everyone was just about to leave to attend to their assigned duties; Clawhauser was happily munching away on the cinnamon rolls Judy brought that morning.

His heart attack came in the form of a tall, slender, beautiful mammal—blonde, soft-spoken, and accompanied by two intimidatingly tall lion guards. The citizens walking in the ZPD were whispering to each other, taking curious glances at the mammal and sneaking pictures with their phones; they didn't approach the visitor, however, because her guards shot them all warning glares that ensured they would regret it if they walked up to her without permission. Clawhauser didn't realize she was there until he looked up from his breakfast treat, and was halted mid-chew.

"Hello, friend. Is it possible that I can book an appointment with the Chief of Police?"

A pain in his chest! He couldn't breathe! Was he dying?! He didn't know, he couldn't tell. He wondered if you got paralyzed when you had a heart attack, because he couldn't move, he couldn't _blink._ Was he even conscious? Was this a dream?! Part of him hoped so, because he was sure he looked like an absolute fool.

Gazelle cocked a perfect eyebrow, and a perfect smile grew on her perfect face. "I hope I didn't startle you."

The only sound that came out of Clawhauser's gaping mouth was an inaudible gargle.

Gazelle's smile started to shrink, and Clawhauser went into panic mode. "Ah… er… reason for appointment?" he managed to whisper, still immobile.

Gazelle giggled gently; her laugh was like bells, soft beautiful bells. "Well, in truth, I do not wish to talk to Chief Bogo—I want to talk with the officer who saved Zootopia."

 _What an absolutely perfect specimen._ "I… um…"

"I hope that's okay. I know you all must be very busy."

"No, no!" Clawhauser insisted. _Please don't leave!_ "Oh, dear, I'm… sorry. I… uh…" he paused, and the squeaky voice that rose to his mouth could no longer be held back. _"I absolutely love your music, Gazelle!"_

She blinked rapidly, obviously surprised by this outburst; only for a second, however. Her eyes began to glimmer with amusement. "Why, thank—"

"You are so amazing! I'm, like, your _biggest_ fan. Well, not litera—okay, maybe I literally am your biggest fan, as in _fattest,_ but I'm also one of your biggest fans as in—"

"Clawhauser," she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. "Is that your first name?"

He nearly fainted. _She knows my name?!_ He forgot, momentarily, that he had a name plate sitting in front of him on the desk. "N-No, it's Benjamin…"

"Benjamin… how lovely." She cocked her head angelically, and placed one hoof to her chest in genuine modesty. "I am honored to have my work appreciated by you, Benjamin Clawhauser. And," she said, picking up a pen from the desk and gesturing with it, "you shouldn't be nervous. I'm a mammal just like you are."

"No, you are an angel with horns! An immaculate mammal with a gorgeous voice, and a perfect personality to top it all off! To say anything different would be an atrocity." He gave a small gasp, realizing what he just said. "Not that… not that what you said was an _atrocity_ , of course not. An animal as kind as you would never be anything but humble…"

She giggled, obviously amused but flattered. "Thank you, Benjamin. Do you have something you would like me to sign?" She gestured again with her pen.

It took a moment for Clawhauser to understand what she meant. Once he figured it out, he began to scramble furiously, shoving his box of cinnamon rolls to the side and digging in the desk drawer with great haste. "Oh, yes, yes! … _Crackers,_ where did that… oh, here it is!" He pulled out a cut-out from a magazine, which pictured the brightly-colored cover of Gazelle's latest album.

As she scribbled deftly on the page, Clawhauser had to remind himself to breath. _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is actually happening, pinch me, oh my god Gazelle herself is standing right in front of me this is the greatest day of my life—_

Gazelle slid back the page, and gave another gentle smile. "Is Chief Bogo too busy today? I only want a few minutes of his time."

Clawhauser couldn't help the grin that rose to his face. _The Chief is going to love this—this'll top all the other presents I snuck in his office!_ "Oh, no, Gazelle, he isn't too busy. Fortunately, the officers you're looking for are still here, as well."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Officers? I thought there was only one, the brave little rabbit."

Clawhauser was afraid to touch the magazine page; he would frame it in a really nice frame, take great care of it and keep it forever. "One of the mammals who helped with the case wasn't put in the papers because he wasn't an officer at the time, but he became one later—he's a great guy, really funny, you'd like him I think."

"What a shame. If he helped, he deserved recognition; he will certainly receive my appreciation."

Clawhauser felt his chest puff up. "Well, you know, I was kind of the communications guy for them… I helped Officer Hopps with the case file and such." He was kind of stretching the taffy, but his claims were pretty much true. Sort of.

Gazelle grinned, and dipped her head towards him. "Then you have my utmost gratitude, Officer Benjamin Clawhauser."

How amazing she was, so considerate of others. Clawhauser sighed dreamily, thinking: _I've died… I've died, and gone to heaven_. "I, uh, can get you in right now, if you'd like. Chief Bogo is in his office. Would you like me to show you?"

Clawhauser wondered how she could look so graceful simply shaking her head. "Oh, no, that isn't necessary. Please, continue your work; I'm sure it is very important."

He thought guiltily of his cinnamon rolls. "Oh, yes, uh… important. Let me give you directions."

After Gazelle and her guards disappeared behind the elevator doors and she sent him a polite little farewell wave, Clawhauser basked in his bliss for a moment. He was the happiest cheetah alive, the happiest _mammal_ alive, he was so _so_ happy, he could die right now and not feel an ounce of regret…

He picked up the magazine page gently; once he read what Gazelle wrote in her lovely swirly scrawl, he thought he might cry tears of joy.

…

 _To my (metaphorically) biggest fan, Benjamin—_

 _Thank you for you encouraging support—I'm so glad that my music brings you happiness!_

 _And remember above all else: you are absolutely perfect just the way you are._

 _With love,_

 _Gazelle_

…

… … … … …

Nick and Judy had been assigned to office work, much to their chagrin. Judy, of course, asked if it was a punishment—Chief Bogo replied that no, it wasn't punishment, he just simply needed paperwork done.

Judy wasn't sure if that was the whole truth, but she didn't question it.

A realization fell upon her the night before, right before Nick had called her for their heart-to-heart phone conversation: if she was unable to come up with the money and the bank _did_ start to take what she owed straight from her paycheck, she wouldn't be able to stay in Zootopia. While police work paid fairly, living in the city costed quite a bit more than it would have in BunnyBurrow. Her tiny, cramped apartment was about the best she could afford without taking money from her food and miscellaneous funds; if she had to pay six thousand dollars straight from her paycheck, she wouldn't be able to make rent. She wouldn't have a place to stay.

Which meant that moving back to BunnyBurrow again was the only other option she had.

That scared her—a lot. But she kept telling herself what Nick said.

Despite this shiny new boulder that had rolled its way onto her shoulders, Nick's talk made her feel a bit better. He was absolutely right—no amount of stress or lack of sleep was ever going to help her come up with the money. So, she decided to assess it by discussing her money issues with Bogo later that day. Maybe he could let her get extra overtime; the only other thing she would be able to do besides work would be sleep, but if it got her the money, she would be okay with that.

So, in result, Judy had gotten a fair amount of sleep the night before and was in a better mood; she could joke around with Nick normally again. She also wasn't running on only caffeine, which was a definite plus; that left her irritable. Despite that there was a relentless knot of dread eating away her insides, she was acting more like Judy. Nick knew that she wasn't okay—he was a skilled actor himself, he knew a façade when he saw it—but it put him in a better mood anyway. He looked slightly less disdained than usual at the thought of doing paperwork.

They had just sat down to their computers in Judy's cubicle when Bogo called them to his office, strangely flustered. Afterwards, Judy set her phone back on its hook and informed Nick about Bogo's order; Nick had been pensively clicking Judy's carrot recorder pen as he listened in on the conversation.

Immediately after Judy told him, Nick stopped his clicking and cocked an eyebrow. "Not a punishment, my butt. We're in trouble," he announced plainly, tossing Judy's pen onto the desk as if in forfeit; it clattered across the surface and stilled on an open file.

Judy rolled her eyes as she slipped out of her office chair. "I didn't do anything, but I wouldn't be surprised if _you_ were in trouble."

"I wouldn't be surprised, either, to be honest."

She chuckled, quietly grabbing her pen from the desk and slipping it into her pocket. "C'mon, dumb fox. Let's go."

… … … … …

The door to Bogo's office was already cracked open when Judy and Nick arrived.

Nick had glanced Judy's direction, sending her a cocked eyebrow with a look that said, _Weird._ He followed it with an _oh-well_ shrug.

Judy blinked, and looked at the door left ajar. She agreed; the open door _was_ weird. If there was anything Bogo valued, it was his privacy—his door was always closed. If you forgot to shut it all the way on your way out of his office, Bogo would threaten parking duty and paperwork for at least two weeks. No one could ever tell if he was serious…but no one wanted to challenge his threat, either.

Judy took the initiative and went to knock softly at the door. "Chief…?" she quietly called.

"Come in, Hopps," a gruff voice answered. "Wilde there, too?"

Nick smiled coyly as he slipped past Judy and through the entryway. "Yes, sir, of course. At your beck and call," he replied; Judy followed behind him, a safe distance back from his swishing tail.

Judy first noticed the lions. They were in simple, black suits, sunglasses perched on their noses and paws clasped firmly behind their backs. They stood directly in front of one of Bogo's guest chairs, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously as they approached; Judy could not see who or what they were guarding. Bogo was sitting at his desk, spine stick-straight, trying to hide his discomfort behind a mask made of cold stares and unwavering solemnity. To anyone outside of the ZPD, they wouldn't know that Bogo had something to hide—but to our two officers, they could see right through him. Something was making him sweat.

Judy was, of course, nervous at the sight of the large felines—but she didn't let it show, Judy being Judy. Instead, she smiled courteously at them. As expected, they didn't smile back.

Judy inwardly winced. _Ouch._

Nick noticed this awkwardness, flicking his half-lidded eyes from lion to bunny. "Well," he commented, turning his smirk to the Chief, "now we all know how desperate the Chief is to hold back the Nack-inator from Nick-inating; hiring some kitties to do his work. But, to his chagrin, it will not-"

"Wilde… shut it."

Nick just grinned in reply.

Judy swallowed, sending Nick a _don't push him_ glare. " _Are_ we in trouble, Chief? If I did anything wrong, please tell me, I'll try my best to fix it…"

Bogo rolled his eyes, probably at the combination of Nick's sarcasm and Judy's anxiety. "No, Hopps. You have…" he cleared his throat, pulling at his collar as if it choked him or it was too hot. "…a visitor."

Judy cocked an eyebrow. "A visitor?"

"Yes, a visitor," said a soft, familiar voice from behind the lions. "Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day."

A figure stood up from the guest chair; blonde and tall, with horns. Elegant, almost regal. Bogo pulled at his collar again, but this time with much more aggression.

Nick's eyes widened; Judy gasped at the unveiling of this mammal, her paws covering her mouth in shock. "Gazelle?" she squeaked. "What… why…"

Gazelle stepped through the lions, motioning her hoof and giving them a knowing stare; their shoulders relaxed a bit. She then turned to the shocked duo. "Officer Hopps," she said, gazing intently at the bunny who now had a huge grin on her face.

Gazelle giggled a bit at Judy's reaction. "And…" she glanced at the fox beside her, who had his arms crossed and his tail swishing. "Officer Wilde, I believe?"

Nick gave her a toothy smile. "The one and only, m'lady."

Another giggle. "Officer Clawhauser told me I would like you, and from what I've seen, I must confess that I am inclined to believe his claim."

"It pleases me to hear that Benji holds me in such high standards."

She nodded. "He seems like a very nice boy."

"He would probably spontaneously combust if he heard you say that, ma'am," Nick chuckled. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he already did." The whole time Nick was talking, one of Gazelle's bodyguards—a lion with a fair chunk of flesh missing from his left ear—glowered at the fox almost suspiciously. When Nick noticed, he simply jutted his chin up at the feline. "Hey, how ya doin'."

A simple grunt came from the lion, and nothing more.

Judy was sure Nick would have no problem with chatting it up with the pop star- or the lion guards, for that matter- but she was ready to get straight to the point. No time for small talk.

"What brings you here, Gazelle?" Judy interrupted, stepping forward. She immediately went into what Nick had dubbed _Never Can Stopsy Flopsy Copsy_ mode, Judy under the assumption that if Gazelle had arrived so suddenly then there must be something wrong. "Do you need our help?"

"Oh no, not at all," she replied, shaking her head delicately. "I'm here to show you my gratitude."

Bogo shifted and sniffed precariously.

Surprise tickled the end of Judy's nose, and she blinked a couple times. She and Nick glanced at each other; he shrugged, his shoulders almost touching his jawline before they fell back to their original position. "For what?" Judy asked, setting her eyes back on the star.

"For saving my Zootopia, of course!" she exclaimed. Then she scratched her cheek awkwardly, as if in guilt. "It is a bit overdue, I admit, but with the release of my album and my tour of charity concerts over the past few months, I've hardly had any time to do anything. But, I suppose a late thank-you is better than none." She shyly brushed off the front of her baby-blue silk shirt, pressing out a small wrinkle in her sleeve distractedly.

Judy couldn't help but smile, her heart warmed. It seemed even the ever-so-confident and bold Gazelle felt insecure once in a while.

Gazelle cleared her throat. "But, I am not only here to thank you," she continued, "I'm here to give a thank-you gift."

Judy gasped. "Oh, no, you don't have to— _oof!"_ She was interrupted by a sharp jab in her side.

"Carrots, _shut up…"_ Nick muttered through the side of his mouth. Judy rolled her eyes at him, giving him a meaningful huff.

"No, I insist." Gazelle reached into the cinnamon-colored Preyda bag at her waist and pulled out an envelope. She turned and placed it on Bogo's desk; the buffalo eyed her with skepticism, one bushy eyebrow raised.

Poking the envelope, the star looked intently at the Chief. "Inside this is a check for eight thousand dollars for the ZPD to improve the equipment, instruction, or anything else for their officers. It's a gift, so ZPD officers will have an easier time protecting the city that I love."

"I was expecting chocolate or something," Nick whispered in Judy's ear. That time, she was the one to jab him.

Fortunately, Chief Bogo didn't hear. He was too busy gaping at Gazelle, who had adorned her signature soft smile. "This is…" he cleared his throat. "This is very generous, ma'am. But you must know that we cannot accept."

"Looks like Bogo's finally gone bonkers," Nick announced.

" _Shut it_ , Nicholas!" This wasn't Bogo, but Judy.

A tiny frown graced Gazelle's petite face, her eyebrows furrowing. "Oh, but Chief Bogo, sir, you must!"

"It's our _duty_ to save lives, ma'am," Chief Bogo replied. "My officers go into this job with the knowledge that, to make the world a better place, we must willingly give our services and help the city without the expectation of repayment." He gazed down at the envelope for a moment. Then, with a pained expression, he pushed it back toward Gazelle, looking straight down at his desk. "I... The ZPD cannot accept this without warping our reason to serve Zootopia."

A wide grin slunk its way onto Judy's face, her heart swelling a little; Nick was impressed, too, though he would never let it show. The only thing that betrayed him was a slight raise of his eyebrows.

The bunny officer crossed her arms. There were some moments when Chief Bogo was scary, mean, or unnecessarily rude…and then he'll go and do stuff like this, being all noble and true and uncorrupted. It made Judy really, really proud to be an officer of the ZPD, and proud to have a Chief who was as great as Bogo was.

Gazelle remained silent at first, letting Bogo's statement sink in. The buffalo waited patiently, gazing back at Gazelle with a fixed stare that Judy knew slapped a seal on the fact that, no matter if Gazelle was a star and no matter if Bogo was a secret fan, he would not budge.

Gazelle finally chuckled, and slid the envelope back in her purse. She did not look disappointed at this rejection of her gift; in fact, she looked quite pleased. "I can respect and admire that, Chief Bogo," she replied. "Thank you for your time."

"It was a pleasure having you, ma'am. Thank you for your offer."

She abruptly turned to the two officers, one of which was listening raptly and the other standing casually with his hands in his pockets. "To the heroes of Zootopia…" she said, her voice soft and beautifully accented, "you forever have my gratitude."

Judy smiled back at her. "Just like the Chief said, ma'am, we were just doing our job."

"You didn't just do your job, Officers—you went above and beyond." She turned to the fox diagonal of her. "And I want to say that I find it a pity the news didn't mention your efforts in the Nighthowler investigation. You're truly a good-hearted mammal, Officer Wilde."

"Why, thank you, Miss Gazelle," Nick replied, gesturing expressively with a paw. " _I_ will accept a compliment, since no one else here is willing to."

That received glares from both Judy and Bogo; the fox pretended not to notice it while he exchanged a friendly pawshake with the star. Her guards winced slightly at this interaction, clearly not fully trusting Nick; instead of showing his hurt, Nick only sent them his usual smirk accompanied with a cocked brow.

A severely distraught paw weaved Judy's esophagus arounds its fingers. She knew, unlike all the others, that clear displays of distrust due to his species hurt Nick. He would never dare show it, though, and definitely didn't wanted it acknowledged; so, it was for this reason that Judy simply bit the inside of her cheek and remained quiet.

Gazelle, obviously unaware of the non-verbal communications between her bodyguards and the fox officer, gave a somber smile and retreated her hoof. "Please, officers, let me know if there is _ever_ anything I can do for you—either or you- and I will immediately do so. Do not hesitate to ask."

Judy eyed the envelope sticking out of Gazelle's purse. She knew it was not proper to request money, and she would not; her pride would not allow it. She was not a beggar! She was a cop, and had to maintain a certain dignity. Doing something like asking for money would defy every reason why she was _here,_ that she paved her own way and made it in Zootopia by herself despite being a mere bunny. She was better than that.

 _No,_ she thought, inwardly kicking herself, _I will not sink to that level._

But she couldn't deny that it was tempting. "Thank you," she managed to squeak out.

Her smile unwavering, Gazelle pushed a long blonde lock from her face and sighed. "Well, I really must be going… but thank you again, so so much." She turned to the Chief. "Sir, if you change your mind about my… _donation_ , please do not be afraid to say so."

Bogo swallowed; he appeared to be holding his breath for a moment, until he spoke. "We will not change our minds, ma'am."

" _We?"_ Nick hissed under his breath. Judy quickly nudged him with her shoulder, and he grimaced.

Gazelle gave an amused puff from her nose, focusing on the buffalo instead of the dorky bickering between ZPD's finest. "So noble. I'm very thankful that my Zootopia has such a dignified gentleman for a Police Chief."

Judy was sure that, if she could see beneath Bogo's fur, he was blushing.

After a few friendly good-byes and autographs scribbled for Judy and Nick (who, in reply to Judy's shocked expression at his request for a signature, only winked at the bunny), Gazelle turned to leave the room with her duo of frighteningly tall lions dutifully following behind her.

The lion with the damaged ear made a point to scowl at Nick over his sunglasses as he passed. Nick smirked back and smartly asked, "Coffee? I'm sorry, I don't usually ask mammals on dates this abruptly, but I truly feel as if we have chemistry."

The lion only grunted, rolled his eyes, and wrapped his paw around the doorknob, facing his body away from the fox.

"By, sweetums. Call me."

In reply to Nick's sarcastic remark, the lion shut the door a bit more forcefully than what may have been appropriate.

There was a stretch of silence after the star and her cohorts had exited the office, two of the mammals inside still reeling from shock and staring at the now-closed door; Nick had had been recovered from his own shock for quite a while, naturally. He went to scratch one ear, giving Judy a nudge.

"You know, I think that lion really liked me."

Judy scoffed, sneering at him. "At the best, he thought you stunk."

Nick snickered, and adjusted his tie; the coyness never left his face. "Doesn't mean he didn't think I was handsome, Fluff. One can stink _and_ be handsome." He gestured toward the buffalo behind them, who was listening to his officers' conversation with a look of utter displeasure. "Just look at Chief Bogo."

The chief rolled his eyes. "I'm just going to pretend that you didn't say I stunk."

Judy wrinkled her nose, a laugh bubbling in her throat. "Or that you said he was handsome!"

"Oh, Chief Bogo's the cutest kit on the block!" Nick jeered, leaning casually on one of the guest chairs with an elbow. He chuckled at Bogo and shrugged. "Sorry, bud, I know I'm getting your hopes up, but I don't swing that way. Hate to break your tiny fragile heart, I know the whole thing must be so painful; I don't blame you, though, I _am_ a pretty nice piece of fox—"

"Wilde, shut up before I rip your snout from your ego-bloated head."

Judy snorted, trying desperately to hold back her laugh. She slapped a paw over her mouth when she received a glare from Bogo.

Nick snickered again, and dipped his head as he raised his paws in surrender. "Say no more. If you don't wanna talk about it, you don't wanna talk about it."

Bogo took a deep breath and let it out through his nose, looking at the ceiling as if it had ideas for ways to legitimately remove a snout from a head. Judy pressed a second paw over her mouth; she was struggling to bottle up her laughter. She knew, though, that any outright display of amusement would encourage Nick to continue with his sly remarks, and that would not make the Chief happy-hence, the second paw.

Bogo pinched the bridge of his nose. " _Please_ …leave my office and get some paperwork done. I want a good chunk of it done by four forty-five."

Judy's paws shifted a few inches away from her face. She looked at Bogo curiously. _That doesn't make any sense…the night shift comes in at six. Six is Bogo's normal deadline for paperwork._ "Why four forty-five?"

"Don't ask questions, Hopps, just do it."

Not the first time she's been told that. "Yes, sir."

Nick scratched the side of his snout with one claw. "Do you want us to bring up what we finished at four forty-five?"

"No. I'll call you up," Bogo replied, shaking his head. He shooed them off with one hoof. "Now, leave. I gotta get some work done."

Judy immediately snapped into a rigid salute. "Yes, sir!" _I'm not going to get a little money troubles get in the way of being a cop, no way; even if today's cop-business is paperwork._ "C'mon, Nick, let's go."

Nick held up a finger, still smiling coyly. "One sec, Fluff, I'll be right down." His smile softened the tiniest bit, and he jutted his head toward the door. "Go on ahead."

"Uh…Okay…?" Judy murmured, trying not to look too disgruntled as she probed at the pen in her pocket. _How am I going to speak with Bogo now?_

She had planned on "dropping" her carrot pen in Bogo's office on accident. She would tell Nick to go down to her cubicle without her, go up to "retrieve" her pen, and quickly discuss her problems with Bogo then; but with Nick's request, that wouldn't work. She thought about trying to manipulate him into letting her stay, but Nick was the king of cons; he would be able to sniff that out in a heartbeat.

A sigh rose into her mouth, but she clenched her lips shut to not allow its escape. _I suppose I'll have to find another way._ "Don't dally," Judy ordered Nick, and abruptly turned to leave.

… … … … …

Nick shook his head and chuckled as the door shut behind his partner. _Weird bunny._

"What is it, Wilde?" the Chief blurted, pulling his glasses out of his breast pocket and settling them onto his nose. "I don't have all day. I have paperwork too."

Nick simply chuckled in reply. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, writing scrawled on its crumpled surface with bright purple ink.

Bogo's eyebrows raised as Nick stepped forward and slid the paper onto his desk. "You really think I asked Gazelle for a signature because _I'm_ a fan?" His voice contained more compassion and less sarcasm than what was usual for the fox.

Bogo's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide; Nick took great pleasure at the fact that, for once, he rendered the great Chief Bogo speechless.

A hoof reached over to the page; instead of picking it up, Bogo smoothed it out, a look of amazement still slapped on his face. This time, he was staring at the paper instead of the fox. "Er…"

Nick held up two paws, signaling he needed no reply. "No, you're fine, Chief. I know you're not a fan, but neither am I, so I figured if you didn't want it you could give it to Clawhauser or something." He dared to give his boss a sly wink. "But I won't know if you keep it, either."

One, two, three blinks from the Chief. His jaw tightened considerably.

"I'll get going, sir. Have a swell day."

Hands in pockets, coy smile adorned, Nick left the office with a satisfied swish of his tail, leaving Chief Bogo with both a damaged pride and an ever-so-slightly swollen heart.

… … … … …

"What'd you talk to Bogo about?"

Nick was expecting this question from his rabbit partner, but not immediately as he entered the cubicle. When she heard him come in, she dropped her pen and her files onto her desk and quickly spun around in her chair; her eyes were wide and the usual impossible purple.

Nick let a chuckle gurgle in his throat as he slid into the regular four-legged chair beside her. "Hey, Carrots, nice to see you too."

Her ear twitched. "Oh, Nick, cut the squash. What is it?"

Judy's farm slang had not lessened one bit with her living in Zootopia; Nick found it both undeniably endearing and incredibly cringe-worthy. "You're really going to nag me for not telling you anything, Miss _Let-Me-Assess-It-First?"_ He made his voice have an exaggerated rural twang and high pitch, the usual mock-voice he used especially for Judy.

And there went her nose, practically vibrating. "Oh, fine. Touche," she snapped back, her ears lowering in defeat. "Sorry."

"Oh, you should be sorry. You have offended me in the worst possible way, Carrots. I don't think I can be around someone as horrible as you one moment longer."

Judy chuckled, and rolled her eyes. "Silly fox. You wouldn't be able to survive without me."

"I did for twenty years."

"Yeah, but back then, you were a sly, shifty con artist," she countered, organizing the towering stack of papers on her desk. "And now, you're—"

"A sly, shifty cop?" Nick finished, smirking.

Judy shrugged, and gave a small but genuine smile. "I was just going to say 'police officer'… but yeah, pretty much." She pushed one of her ears onto her shoulder, an action that Nick noticed was becoming more of a habit for Judy. "You have to have someone to keep you in check. If you didn't, I'm pretty sure you'd be on permanent parking duty."

Nick scoffed, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I get all my work done. I may nap and goof around some, but you know I always do my job. You don't have to keep me in check, Carrots, I'm fine."

"But Nick, you have to understand…" She focused her attention from the paperwork to her partner. If eyes could smile, Judy's were at that moment. "You need me to keep you in check the same way that I need you to keep me in check."

"Like, to make sure you don't stress so much that your brain starts to leak out of your ears?"

She chuckled. "Something like that."

Giving a small, humored _tch_ , Nick took half of the stack of papers and placed them in front of him. "I know for a fact that you _do_ need me, Carrots," he said as he patted his pockets for a pen, getting a little irritated when he couldn't find one. He was always losing his pens. "But I'm a pretty independent fox, I think I'd be fi—"

He was interrupted by a pen waggling in his face; Judy was holding it, sniggering and cocking one eyebrow. "Are you sure 'prideful' isn't the word you're looking for, Nick? It seems like _I_ keep up with most of your things; you'd lose everything if I wasn't here." She leaned forward, her lips curling into a smile and her eyes gleaming with lure of a challenge. "Admit it, fox. You can't survive without me."

Nick tried his best to act like he was irritated, crossing his arms and imitating Judy's signature huff. "Fine, I'll admit it, but only because you keep up with my pens," he snapped back, swiping the writing utensil from her paw and sticking a tongue out at her.

Judy giggled softly, to Nick's relief, but then turned to her paperwork. It seemed to be a rather abrupt end to the conversation, but the fox didn't say anything; he just started on his half of the files and silently watched her in his peripheral vision.

Nick had, in all honesty, not been feeling much better about Judy. He tried his best to act like he was, thinking that a positive energy would be the best thing for her right now; but he could plainly see that, despite the fact that she had to put in great effort to joke around and engage in their usual banter, all of her jokes and banters seemed not as genuine as they normally did. The fact that she _had_ to put effort into communicating normally with him was definitely something he was to be concerned about.

 _She's just a stubborn bunny,_ he would tell himself. _Don't humor her. Maybe she's just trying to get under your skin._

But Judy wouldn't do that. She was too real of a person; too much of an open book.

Nick finished his first page, placing it into the empty _finished_ bin and starting on a second.

 _Dude, if she wants to keep all this to herself, maybe she doesn't think of you as good a friend as you do of her._

If Judy didn't think he was her best friend, she wouldn't call him that on a regular basis.

This was a constant back-and-forth in Nick's mind. His negative side would tug and pound and push at his brain, but the positive side would always rule out; Judy had had too much of an impact on him. But that didn't mean that he didn't have any doubt. Nick was not the kind of guy to easily trust anyone; that wasn't to say he didn't trust Judy, but maybe more that he didn't trust her judgement of her own emotions. He knew what building up walls looked like, and that was exactly what she was doing.

Which worried Nick immensely. Judy was _not_ a bunny meant to have walls around her emotions.

They had worked through a large chunk of the paperwork in comfortable silence, sometimes cracking jokes about things in the files or taking a break to grab something from the nearby vending machine. Nick had made himself quit thinking about everything for a moment and devote his concentration to paperwork-which was emotionally relieving but mentally taxing-until his partner peeped up beside him.

"Nick," Judy suddenly muttered, pulling Nick from his thoughts. Her eyes flickered over to him for a split second, then fell back on her papers. "You…You're my best friend, right?"

Nick felt like he was the one who should be asking that question. "No, Carrots, I just hang around you for the blueberries."

He gave a small laugh at his own joke, but Judy huffed. "Seriously," she said, her voice barely a whisper. A tiny little crease appeared between her eyebrows, and her nose twitched.

Nick blinked a couple times, and set his pen on the desk. "Of…Of course I am."

"No matter what?"

Nick gave a small smile. He reached a paw over her shoulders and tugged her close to his side, an attempt to show his support. "You got it." _Always, Carrots._

A satisfied look settled across her features. She nodded, content. "Good," she murmured. She looked down at her papers for a moment, then back up at Nick. "You know," she murmured, beginning to let out a timid chuckle, "My dad used to be scared of foxes."

Nick shrugged; he considered taking away his paw, but decided against it. Judy probably liked the comfort. "Yeah, you told me."

"Did I ever tell you why?" She had completely abandoned her paperwork by now, her favorite carrot pen resting patiently on the top of her pile.

"No, I don't think so."

Judy touched a tiny paw to her left cheek, letting her fingers slide over the fur for a moment. "The fox, Gideon Grey…"

"The baker that your parents work with?"

She nodded. "That's the one."

"What about him?"

Her ears lowered a very tiny bit; she stared down at the table, paw still pressed to cheek. Nick had the sudden overwhelming urge to give her a noogie, and seriously considered it for a moment.

 _Ugh, Nick, be serious. This is a serious moment._

Judy licked her lips. "He bullied me when I was very young."

"…Oh." Nick didn't know what to say; it made perfect sense. It was probably the source of the wariness Judy had with foxes, before the resolution of the Nighthowler case.

"It's just funny," she mumbled, giving a small little giggle. "Now, I have a fox for a best friend. That's fate for you, I suppose."

Nick gave his own half-hearted chuckle; he wasn't sure what exactly to make of this conversation. "I guess so."

"Sorry… that was a bit random."

"Yeah," Nick agreed, smirking, "but it's fine. There's nothing wrong with being random."

"I guess the point of it was that…" she paused, blatantly ignoring Nick's sarcasm. "…that fate can be a funny thing."

That statement made Nick think.

They had, of course, kept talking and eventually drew the conversation to a close to resume their paperwork, but what Judy said really struck a chord with Nick. He was a fox that had a habit of living in the moment; not caring about the past or the future, but instead what was happening in front of him. He never really thought about _fate._

Nick bit the inside of his cheek aggressively as he scribbled, ballpoint pen pressed deep into the paper. What was _fate,_ anyway? How did you know what fate looked like, where it showed up in the different happenings of your life? Heck, Nick had no idea. Maybe fate came in the form of a meter maid, popping up conveniently in an ice cream shop. Maybe it took the form of paw-shaped popsicles. Maybe it was a jingling bell around a fuzzy, wooly neck. Maybe it was blueberries, or a recorder pen shaped like a carrot. Perhaps a red neckerchief; a muzzle.

Maybe it was a well-tailored suit…the tales of a father's fear.

The faint croons of Frank Swinatra.

If fate was real, it was sure as heck trying to tell him something. He thought he knew what that something was, and if it _was_ that something, Nick didn't know if he was ready to face it.

"Hey, Carrots?"

"Hmm?" she answered, never taking her eyes off her paper.

Nick tugged at his tie a bit; he wasn't entirely sure why. "How do you feel about… Frank Swinatra?"

She looked at him strangely for a moment, the purple and bewildered way of her eyes oh-so-very-Judy. Then, her face relaxed into a quiet laugh. "And you called _me_ random," she shot, rolling her eyes. "Frank Swinatra? Why do you ask?"

That was when the phone rang.

… … … … …

 **This chapter was written with the intention of character-building. I know not a lot is happening plot-wise in this chapter, but I think the interactions that are going on are vital to build the types of relationships I want in this story. I also think this chapter helped me acquire a better hold on everyone's personalities; last chapter was more fast-paced, not leaving me with much room to explore characters. The pace will pick up with the next chapter, I promise. Hope it wasn't so slow it was boring! D:**

 **I made Clawhauser's middle name "Nate" because that's the first name of his voice actor.** **Cutie patootie.**

 **I came up with the title for this fanfiction when it was just a mere blurb in my mind. Now that it's evolved, I kind of wish I named it something more vehement and suave. The title definitely holds great meaning, but there are other titles I've come up with since first posting it that may be more appealing to potential readers…Oh, well.** **A book's beauty lies behind the cover, amirite?**

 **I also might be giving ya'll some links soon to art of mine that I doodle for this story; my cover art is one of them. If you want to use my art for anything, please ask me first.**


	3. Storytime with Sir Crumpet

**Hey, ya'll. Gonna try my best to make things interesting.**

 **Before you start reading, I want ya'll to know that I am aware that hares and bunnies are not the same species. I tend to use the word "rabbit" interchangeably between the two, for lack of other words besides only "hare" and "bunny". I would also imagine that hares are called "bunnies" if the mammal referring to them means it in more of a derogatory way, since bunnies are smaller and more timid. I think that they're close enough to the same species that it shouldn't matter too much (i.e. donkeys and horses), but there are also some differences between them.**

 **Just letting you guys know.**

 **Hope you enjoy~**

… … … … …

 **Chapter Three: Storytime with Sir Crumpet**

When he's lucky, Jack gets four hours of sleep when he's working.

There was a common knowledge that if one gets more sleep, it increases their ability to function properly; but not Jack. In fact, it was the opposite for this hare; lack of sleep made him attentive, uptight, aware. It was part of the reason why he made such a good spy—his performance never deteriorated with the number of hours he stayed awake.

Oh, don't misunderstand, Jack loved to sleep as much as the next mammal…but he was an agent, and agents don't have luxuries like sleep. Once set on a mission, Jack was a spy twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; spies never clock out.

So, as expected, on the subsequent night to his discussion with Bogo, he got no sleep whatsoever. He kept all the lights on in his mediocre hotel room (chosen for subtlety), three laptops set up side-by-side on the desk and stacks of files at each corner. His place was in front of these computers, a trac-fone he bought from the drug store flipped open and dialed to Damon Sentry, his dependable meerkat tech mammal. Jack's notes, all written on the hotel-supplied stationery, were spread out in front of him in a fan of sickly yellow. A tiny pine-scented candle flickered nearby.

He never ended up changing out of his suit; he only shed his jacket, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. The red panda who delivered his room-service tea and watercrest sandwiches looked slightly nonplussed at his uncomely attire, but did Jack care? Not one bloody bit. He would have normally tried to maintain at least a little dignity at all times, but the current situation was so impossibly infuriating he had no time to consider the discomfort of any potential visitors.

As time pressed on, this mission proved itself more and more dubious; and taking a dubious mission meant taking some major chances.

Bogo's evidence, though sound, was risky. Everything about this was risky. Jack had dealt with risk before, of course, but this was the ZIA he was investigating, for cripes' sake! He had worked with them so much, he might as well be working up a plan to infiltrate MI6 itself. All Bogo had was reason that Wraqune was possibly up to no good, that he may have a bulk of ZIA agents in on it, and that it was tied to the recent drug problem in Zootopia; but what Wraqune was _doing_ , exactly, was unknown.

Even Damon, a genius with computers and the like, was finding it challenging to tiptoe around the ZIA firewall and get to the juicy files. Jack was hoping to get some information without having to sneak into anything—but it was never that easy.

The hard part was not getting through the ZIA firewall, but doing so without letting the ZIA know they were being hacked. Damon had tried for hours, only able to dig up some practically useless information about Wraqune's home life; which could eventually be useful, Jack noted, but didn't aid his current need for a base plan.

Jack and Damon discovered the following: Wraqune had two sons, one biological by the name of Louis Wraqune. His second son was adopted; a hare by the name of Elliot Snowshoe. Any trace of a wife—alive, deceased, or otherwise—was never specified. Wraqune liked to play croquet and golf on the weekends, bought an excessive amount of scotch, and had a subscription to _Home and Gardens_. He had five different email accounts (all laced with ZIA tampering, so Damon couldn't hack his accounts without letting the ZIA know), and had blackberry cobbler delivered weekly to a confidential address. Damon managed to get the address, but it only ended up being location of a grocery store; it was probably the pickup location for the cobblers.

So, basically, nothing worthwhile.

It was almost like the Wraqune that identified himself as the ZIA director didn't exist.

 _"Sorry, mate,"_ Damon had told him with his heavy Australian accent, a groan emanating from the low-quality speaker of Jack's flip phone. _"I just don't want t'cock this up. I know how t'get around ZIA's firewalls—they aren't much different than ours—but not sending up red flags's pretty close to impossible."_

"You've done fine, Damon," Jack replied, tapping his ballpoint pen against the desk as he stared at his computer screens in frustration. "I'm just asking a lot of you." With the exception of billion dollar companies, most systems were extremely easy for Damon to hack; even those rich and powerful companies that set up extremely sophisticated systems had a weakness somewhere.

But this was a _government agency_ they were trying to hack into. There were probably hundreds of geniuses sitting behind computers, waiting patiently for any sign of hacking so they can locate and obliterate the offender—and if the ZIA found that it was the MI6 trying to hack them, "war" wouldn't even begin to describe the chaos.

Jack could hear Damon smack his lips, a habit the meerkat could never drop. _"Regina offered to go try t'squeeze some information out o' other agents, but I told 'er not to. 'You're no actor,' I told 'er. 'Leave that t'Jack.'"_

Jack had chuckled. "Tell her I appreciate it, but she should just stick to her guns."

Damon gave a loud _ha!_ , his snicker sharp and amused. _"Pun intended?"_

"Pun intended," Jack repeated, smiling. Regina—just 'Regina', last name arguable—was their weapons extraordinaire. She was a black bear who knew the weapons world inside and out. She may have lacked stealth, but if you ever needed to charge head-on into a fight, Regina was your gal.

After agreeing to buying Damon a few pints once he returned to the UMK, Jack hung up and popped the cheap cell phone in the hotel's provided microwave for about ten minutes; then, he planned. He took what he knew- some small and possibly flawed information Damon managed to dig up, and what Bogo had given him—and patched together a makeshift plan that may or may not work.

He worked all through the night and into the day, until about four p.m. After some caffeinated hot tea, a shower, and a fresh suit, Jack burned all his notes on his pine-scented candle and had Damon completely obliterate the memory on his laptops. He had studied everything so much that he had all of it memorized, anyway. He kept what was necessary to explain to these officers and put them into his briefcase, which he secured with a combination lock.

The _officers!_ Jack was not above working with the fuzz, but he couldn't help but feel extremely uncomfortable with working alongside two mammals of such minor law enforcement. Chief Bogo had given Jack the files of the two officers he boasted about, and the hare could admit that he was a little miffed at the fact that one of the officers was the very fox that had been staring him down earlier that day. He had Damon look into these officers' backgrounds so he could know a bit more about them; Jack didn't let Bogo know this, but if either even seemed slightly incompetent, Jack wasn't afraid to drop them like a sack of old potatoes.

 _I know I told the Chief that there was no time to evaluate these officers' abilities,_ Jack thought as he slid his hotel key into his wallet and stepped into the colorfully-carpeted hallway. _I think I must. Too much risk, too much uncertainty. If there is one thing I need to be certain about, it's my team._

Jack was definitely stepping out of his comfort zone by doing this—but he was a spy. Nothing was supposed to be outside his comfort zone; if it wasn't inside his comfort zone, he forced it to be.

He was determined to do that now.

Maybe he should have gotten more sleep.

… … … … …

Both Judy and Nick had large stacks of completed paperwork in their paws, inside Bogo's office for the second time that day. They were both completely burnt out, a typical symptom of paperwork duty; it was a good thing Judy kept pain reliever in her desk or they both would have been miserable. Judy did not hesitate to reiterate how Nick depended on her ("I don't see _you_ thinking of bringing Aspawrin in case we need it!"), and of course Nick played along with it; she didn't have to know he kept his own pain pills in his duffel bag back in the locker room, and how he was just too lazy to go and get them.

Bogo was staring at the clock on his wall with ferocity when the duo walked in, his steely eyes narrowed in an almost uncharacteristic concentration.

 _The heck…?_

Nick glanced over at Judy, who just simply watched Bogo with a furrowed brow and a little twist to her mouth, her body leaned backwards with the strain of her stack of paperwork. She was obviously just as bewildered as Nick was.

Nick cleared his throat scratchily. "Uhh… Chief…?"

Bogo's gaze never left the clock. "You both did most of the paperwork?"

"Um, yeah," Judy uttered. She still looked absolutely puzzled. "We finished it all, actually."

Bogo's eyes shifted with the minute hand, which was inching the slightest bit toward the twelve; ten till five, Nick noted. "Good, good," the buffalo muttered in reply. "Just leave it on my desk."

After placing the papers beside Bogo, both Nick and Judy retreated awkwardly. Nick scratched the back of his neck, and he could hear Judy sniff beside him; there was an uncomfortable length of silence forced into the space.

Eventually, Bogo realized what was going on, and tore his eyes away from the clock; he raised an eyebrow at his officers, who were waiting sheepishly. Judy had her paws clasped dutifully behind her back. "What are you two gawking at?" Bogo snapped, and waved a hoof to the two chairs in front of his desk passively. "Sit, for crying out loud."

Nick looked over at Judy, and found she was already scanning him, looking for answers. _What's going on?_ Judy mouthed at Nick, her nose shifting slightly with each word; he gave a slight shrug and mouthed back, _No idea._

Judy twisted her mouth and quickly hopped into a chair; Nick slid in beside her and proceeded to accidentally sit on his tail. _Ugh, uncomfortable._ He adjusted it. "Chief," Nick blurted as he settled down next to his rabbit partner, "when are you gonna tell us why we're in trouble?"

Bogo gave a large, haughty puff from his nose; his nostrils flared. "Now, what makes you think you're in trouble, Wilde?" This was sarcasm.

Nick felt obligated to reciprocate. "Oh, I don't know, giving us _paperwork duty,_ maybe? And now you're calling us directly to your office an hour before our shift ends. Not to mention you're being a little grumpy."

A low, irritated growl emanated from Bogo's throat at the fox's disrespect. "Apparently, Wilde, you feel extremely comfortable with not. Having. A _job."_

Nick held up his paws in immediate surrender. _Point taken._

"It's because we asked for that drug case, isn't it?"

This wasn't Nick; it was Judy. She was leaning back in the chair, crossing her arms and looking incredibly stern for so cute a bunny; there was fire in her eyes, her nose twitching and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

Bogo just glowered at her. Nick took it with a grain of sand; Bogo glowered at everything.

Judy threw up her paws in exasperation. "I mean, we've been doing more paperwork and parking duty than ever, since we requested to investigate the new drug problem!"

Nick through about this for a moment, scratching his chin with a claw. He nodded, thinking about the past month; what she said was true. They've been doing paperwork and parking duty a _lot_ lately.

"Hopps, you know why I didn't assign you to the case."

"Because a case like that is personal to us, yes, I know," Judy retorted. "But, sir, we didn't mean any _harm_ in asking. We just wanted to help; we felt like we would have been effective in fixing it!"

"I know it may not seem this way, but the emotional stability of my officers matters to me," the huge buffalo said out of the side of his mouth; his eyes were practically slits. "You had the Bellwether case. Then, not a _month_ into his new job, you and Rookie Wilde were assigned to a domestic dispute case that you, Hopps—now, correct me if I'm wrong—took _very hard._ Another emotionally scarring case wouldn't have helped you cope in the least bit."

Nick inwardly winced, and immediately looked to check on Judy. Her profile was slumped, her ears now flattened against her head; she wrapped her arms around herself. Nick couldn't tell if she was hurt from Bogo's words or hurt from the memory of the case, but either way, he wanted to squeeze the fluff out of her until she felt okay again.

Nevertheless, Bogo continued. "I also didn't assign you to the case, Hopps, because A—we have other equally talented officers who are perfectly capable in investigating such things," Bogo stated, ticking off on his hooves, "and B—I didn't want your heads to become so excessively filled with hot air that you became blind to failure."

Judy peered up at the Chief through her eyelashes. "Do you think we're _cocky,_ Chief?"

"A little bit, yes. Wilde moreso."

Nick stifled a chuckle. He couldn't deny that.

Judy was taken aback, her eyes flicking back and forth for a moment and her jaw hung slack. "Chief, I… I try as best I can to be humble! Humility is a virtue, and I try—"

"You can _try,_ Hopps," Bogo snapped back, folding his massive arms, "but the chance is _still there._ I've lost plenty of good, honest officers to them making risky moves because they thought they could do it and failed." He paused for a moment, glancing back toward the clock. "I have something bigger on my plate now. All that dramatic bullroar doesn't matter anymore."

"Bigger?" Judy asked, her voice riding in pitch. All of a sudden, she didn't look so miffed; the frustration in her posture was replaced with straight-backed bright interest. Her eyes glittered, all purple-y and curious.

A small smile grew on Nick's lips. He couldn't help it! He tried, he did, but it wasn't his fault if her abundance of excitement was adorable. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

"Yes, bigger," Bogo replied. "Something that will make me have to ignore your rapidly inflating heads and excessive amount of confidence."

 _Too late for that,_ Nick thought briskly, smirking and straightening his tie. _I am Mr. Confident, yessir. Confident is my middle name. Nicholas Confident Wilde._

Bogo cocked an eyebrow at him, his snout twisting into an unpleased frown. "Got something to say, Wilde?"

"Nothing you'd like, Chief," Nick smirked back.

Bogo only grunted.

Judy was excited now, way more excited than she should be. She stood up in the seat beside Nick, her face now completely level with his; it was weird like this, Nick felt, since he was so used to looking down to meet her eyes. "You were talking like you were going to put _us_ on this new case, Chief!" she exclaimed, her paws clasped together and a huge grin showing off her rabbit teeth. "Is that true, sir? What is it about? Something bigger than the drug case… does that mean that it's bigger than the _Nighthowler case?!"_

Bogo grunted again, and sniffed. "…Possibly."

Nick was excited, too, but for another reason. "So no more paperwork duty, Chief?"

"For now." Bogo glanced at the clock again.

Judy exaggeratedly flopped back down into the chair, giving a great, high-pitched sigh and slumping heavily against Nick's arm. "Thank _goodness,_ " she emphasized, her ears pressed down and head against the fox's bicep. Nick couldn't help but snicker at her.

"Don't get too excited, Hopps," Bogo grumbled. "Nothing about this situation is pretty."

"Knock, knock!"

Nick's ears perked up. This voice was low, smooth, upbeat, and undeniably British. It was also a voice he had never heard before.

He turned and peered around the side of the chair, straining his neck and holding the armrest for leverage. Judy sprang to her feet and peered over the top, her ears erect and eyes wide with enthusiastic curiosity; she had to balance on her tiptoes in order to see more than the backrest of their chair.

A small figure occupied the space of the doorway, right paw deep in slack pocket and tie pressed closely to his throat. A black trench coat, nicely pressed and laid over his shoulders… his arms weren't inside the sleeves of his coat. This exposed the light grey material of his suit, well-tailored. Slim-fit. A trilby hat was settled well onto his head, his long ears laid over his back and brow shadowed by the brim. He held a glossy black briefcase in his left paw.

 _That hare from yesterday!_ Nick tightened his jaw, grinding his teeth together aggressively. _The one who glared at me. Gross, go away._

He didn't look in any way surprised at Nick's presence, however. He looked…strangely enthusiastic? And excited! Lightyears different than the hare that death-glared Nick into oblivion the day before.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything!" the hare said with a chipper voice, chuckling awkwardly.

"No, come in, Jack," Bogo said, his voice suddenly much kinder. "Close the door behind you."

If this hare— _Jack_ —was surprised at Nick's presence, he certainly didn't show it. He shut the door with a soft click, placed his coat and trilby on Bogo's coatrack, and deftly lifted himself onto the seat beside the officers'. His face was occupied with a wide smile as he stretched over and plopped his briefcase on Bogo's desk.

Nick noticed that the hare's ears twitched quickly to the right, toward the door. _Weird._

Bogo cleared his throat. "Uh… This is…" He glanced questioningly at the hare.

"I'm Jackson Russel," he clarified, standing in the seat and giving a slight bow toward Judy and Nick. "Accountant. Great pleasure to meet you both, I've heard so much about you!"

Nick cocked his eyebrow. _Accountant?_ He inwardly chuckled. _Well, rabbits_ are _good at multiplying, I suppose. Maybe he's a witness for the case Bogo was talking about._

Judy was smiling widely; she was faced away from Nick and towards this Mr. Russel, but he was sure that if he could see her face, her eyes would be glittering and friendly. "Hello, Mr. Russel!" She shoved a paw towards him, slightly leaning so she could stretch over the gap separating their two chairs. "Officer Judy Hopps. Nice to meet ya!"

 _Carrots, you're too nice._

Jackson-Russel-the-Accountant grasped her paw and shook it briefly but enthusiastically. "Pleasure's mine, Officer, really. A joy." Then his eyes shifted to the fox behind her; his toothy smile was unwavering, but a certain slyness made its way into the hare's blue-grey eyes.

Another twitch of the hare's long ears.

 _Don't let them know that they get to you, Nick._ The fox let a wide smirk shimmy onto his snout; _he_ would start the introductions. "Officer Nicholas Wilde, Mr. Russel," he keened, putting out his own paw for the hare to shake.

 _Finishing touch: the half-lidded gaze,_ Nick thought, and threw that on his face, too. _Bake for 20 minutes at 365 degrees, and you've got yourself an award-winning sarcastic smile._ He finished with, "But you can just call me Nick."

The hare glanced down at the larger, clawed paw, and immediately took it. "And you can just call me Jack, Officer." His voice suddenly gained a bit of an edge to it.

Ooh. This was war. Of sarcasm? He hoped so. Another equally witty opponent like Howlton would be… entertaining.

Nick withdrew his paw. "Nice suit," The fox acknowledged, looking down at Mr. Russel's attire. "Full canvas, right?" It was a simple, low-key suit, but good quality—very good quality. All grey-and-black was too plain, in Nick's opinion; he would have opted for a blue or green tie to go with it—but something told him that this hare wasn't a bright-green-tie guy.

Judy gave him a perplexed look, squinting her eyes at him. Nick just smiled at the accountant and pretended not to notice.

Jack let out a friendly chuckle, and spread a grey paw over the top button of his jacket. "Yes, it is, actually. I'm quite proud of it! Good buy, I think." His voice was rough, but cheery. An odd combination.

Nick nodded. "Very sharp." He rubbed his chin as if in thought, still scanning over the hare's clothing. He noticed the lack of flaps on the pockets, the pronounced v-shape of the jacket. "Italian, looks like."

Bogo or Mr. Russel may not have realized what Nick was doing, but Judy sure did; she knew he was mocking the hare. She looked like she was about to lecture Nick, but must have decided to stay silent. Nick suspected that _Jackson_ caught on to what he was doing, but the hare didn't show any sign of discomfort or irritation.

"Italian, yes," Jack agreed, shrugging amiably. "I do enjoy my nice suits, I suppose. Keen eye, Officer, I'm impressed!"

Yet another twitch of Jack's ears toward the door; this particular twitch was more obvious. Was the hare getting nervous? Nick hoped so.

"You seem like an intelligent mammal, Mr. Russel," Nick pressed, leaning forward in his seat. "Can I ask you a question?"

" _Nick,"_ Judy warned from beside him; Nick could practically feel the anxiety in her voice. She put a paw on his arm; he ignored it.

"Why, of course, Officer!" Jack nodded, his eyes wide and curious. He didn't acknowledge Judy's nervousness. "Anything."

"I know a massive amount of mammals in this city, including a lot of accountants," he began, folding his arms and staring the hare square in the eye. "And all are very, very good with money."

"As expected," Jack agreed, nodding.

"They're all _cheap,"_ Nick emphasized. "Wealthy or poor, they don't spend a lot of money, because they know how the system works. And you," Nick pointed at the hare, "are young, not yet thirty. Unless you own an accounting firm—which you would have made clear in your introduction—you are not wealthy."

Jack gave an amused scoff, glancing from Nick to Bogo, who was watching with one eyebrow raised. Jack focused back on the fox. "Well," he laughed, "what is your question, Officer?"

"My question is, why would an accountant—in Zootopia, where cost of living is high—be willing to spend money on a suit that's well over a thousand dollars?"

Jack blinked. Ear twitch.

"Nick, what the heck is wrong with you?" Judy gasped. "You are insulting a citizen!"

"All I'm saying is, _Mr. Russel_ here can't be an accountant. Not with a suit like that; great-quality Italian suits are always some of the priciest." He gestured toward the trench coat hanging on the coatrack, returning Judy's accusing look with an exasperated huff. "And that coat? _Really_ good quality, just as good as the suit. A thousand at the _least."_ A snicker rolled its way out of his throat. "That means that _all_ his clothes are that expensive, unless he decided that a meeting with two grubby officers was the perfect opportunity to pull out his Italian suit that may or may not have the same worth as a vehicle."

There was silence. Judy looked horrified, her large ears pressed onto the back of her head as she stared at Nick in anguish; he could tell that she didn't know what to feel. Bogo, to Nick's surprise, didn't look nearly as ticked off as the fox thought he would; he was simply observing with his arms crossed, looking a little…pleased?

Jack, on the other hand, had defeat written all over his face. Nick couldn't help but feel extremely satisfied with himself, falling back into his chair with a triumphant _hmm._

His victory was short-lived, however. All at once, the hare's face dropped into a smirk, and he stuck his paws back into his pockets. "One officer has proved himself, Chief," he murmured. He was a whole different mammal now, nonchalant and dignified; Nick could believe that this hare was the one who glared at him so bluntly.

"Ex-con mammal," Bogo replied gruffly.

Shock flew like a rock into Nick's throat. "Wait… what?" What did his past have to do with anything? And why was Bogo not surprised at the odd behavior of his visitor?

"What's going on?" Judy questioned, look of horror morphing into confusion.

The hare's voice suddenly lowered to a low mutter; his expression much more solemn, his demeanor cooler and more collected than before. "Officer Wilde is right," he said. "I'm not an accountant."

Nick swallowed a large amount of saliva; he wasn't surprised that this hare wasn't an accountant, but instead at the fact that he was so willing to admit his lie.

Judy snorted; she was incredibly offended at the lie, Nick knew. He didn't blame her. "I'll bet your name isn't Jackson Russel, either, huh?"

"Correct," was the soft, simple answer.

"Very smart." The words just flowed out of Nick; something about this hare had rubbed his fur the wrong way, and this accountant lie just sealed the deal. "I suppose you just woke up this morning and thought: _Say, I think I'll go to the ZPD and lie about my identity to the coppers, they definitely can't arrest me for that! It'll be such fun, I'll make it back to my flat by teatime for a biscuit or two."_ He used a fairly accurate but much haughtier imitation of this British mammal's accent. Beside him, Judy glowered at the hare; her paws were firmly placed upon her hips.

" _Wilde…"_ Bogo warned, his voice growing in volume as he extended the syllable.

"I don't like biscuits," the hare replied, unperturbed. "Crumpets are delicious, though."

"How incredibly British of you." Nick spat every word. "Do you drink Earl Grey, too?"

"I am inclined to believe, Wilde, that you do not have a bloody _filter_ between your brain and your mouth!" Bogo bellowed; _now_ he looked ticked off, hooves clenched and shoulders tensed.

Jack immediately held up a paw to the buffalo. "It's quite all right, Chief," he affirmed. He looked unimpressed with Nick's sarcasm. "He has a right to question my actions."

 _Damn right I do,_ Nick thought, clenching his teeth.

"But I recommend, Officer Wilde and Officer Hopps, that you do keep your voice down." Jack glanced at the door, his eyes tense and suspicious. "It seems we have a visitor."

"A what?" Judy asked, her ears perking. Her paws fell from her hips, and she flicked her gaze at the door with caution.

"Visitor. For quite some time. I was going to make it known quietly, but…"

… _but I called you out,_ Nick thought grumpily. _Sorry, not sorry._

Jack and Bogo exchanged glances, both equally serious. Bogo was the first to move to the door, his strides quick and booming; he flung it open with a fiery haste.

There, awkwardly keeled in a crouch and husky paws pressed to husky cheeks, was Clawhauser. He had jumped when Bogo opened the door, the buffalo's massive shadow sliding over him; he chuckled sheepishly, giving a little wave of his fingers. "Uh… hi, Chief." His brown eyes were the size of dinner plates.

There was a furious pause; the only sound that could be heard was the deep in-and-out breaths of Bogo trying to keep his temper in check.

"I don't know what is so special about today," Bogo growled under his breath, "but for some reason, all of my officers seem to want to do their best to _get under my fur._ "

Nick winced. Maybe he had laid on the quippy one-liners a bit too thick.

Judy whimpered beside Nick, concerned for her friend. Nick had plenty of second-hand embarrassment for Benji, sure, but he also may have thought it was just an eensy-teensy bit funny. Maybe.

"S-Sorry, Chief!" Clawhauser stammered, shrinking away from Bogo and clasping his paws together in desperation. "I just thought, since Gazelle came here earlier today to meet with Judy and Nick, that this guy was someone associated with Gazelle and I was just curious, sir, I promise, I'm really sorr—"

" _Leave!"_

The cheetah scurried off as fast as his pudgy hind paws could carry him, calling back apologies and promises to remain at the front desk from then on.

Bogo quietly shut the door, visibly restraining himself. Judy piped up, "How long had he been there?"

"Almost right after I closed the door behind me," the strange hare said distractedly, louder this time. He was fixing the hem of his sleeve, straightening the folds. "That's why I lied. He was following me from a distance—not very stealthy. He tried, though."

"But it was just Clawhauser, he's a good guy," Judy protested. "Why would you need to lie in front of him?"

Their visitor flicked his attention away from his sleeve and peered at her pointedly. "I had no idea who he was, or who could be listening in. One can never be too careful."

"Why would we worry about someone listening in?" Nick questioned, forcing one eyebrow up as he tried his best to give the hare his best flower-killing glare.

Bogo gave a deep sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, Jack. They're not very trusting."

Anger flashed through Nick. Bogo was _sorry?_ If anything, Bogo should be _happy_ that Nick was so incredulous. _What a joke._

Jack gave a low chuckle. "It's fine, Chief. I would be suspicious, too."

"How about you stop _justifying_ our questions…" Judy snapped through her teeth, "…and start _answering_ them?!"

 _That's my girl, taking names but never taking crap._ Nick smirked.

"Fair enough." The hare folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the back of the chair, crossing his lean legs. The fabric of his slacks stretched. "My name is Jack Savage."

"Sounds like a stripper name," Nick gruffly replied.

Jack chuckled again; he seemed genuinely amused at Nick's comment, which ticked him off. "Haha, no. I'm an agent."

"I take it you're not, like, an _insurance_ agent," Judy muttered. She cocked an eyebrow. "Or are you going to lie about that too?"

Jack's blue-grey eyes flared. "I'm an agent of MI6, Officer."

A _spy?_ Nick felt his eyes widen on their own accord. As much as he didn't want to believe it, it made sense; the lying about his occupation, the fear of eavesdroppers, the expensive suits, the switch from a cheery personality to an intense and serious one.

Nick immediately looked to Bogo for affirmation; Nick knew Judy was doing the same. Bogo grunted and nodded slightly, jaw clenched.

"You're a _secret agent?!"_ Judy practically squealed, focusing her attention back on the hare. Nick was genuinely amazed at how quickly her mood switched from incredulousness to awe. "How… how admirable!"

' _Admirable'?_ Nick boiled. _Only Carrots would ever call a secret agent 'admirable'._

Jack smiled slightly. "I like to think so."

"Jack is here to talk to you both," Bogo interjected, obviously ready to get down to business.

"If they are willing to listen," Jack said. His voice didn't sound accusing, very genuine.

Genuine or not, it made Nick want to be a smart aleck all the same. "Are we too sassy for you?" the fox couldn't help but jab.

"No, Officer Wilde," Jack immediately countered, "You're just the right amount. Now why don't we address the task at hand instead of engaging in yet another battle of wits, yes?"

Nick scoffed. _Pretentious bunny._

Jack leaned over, practiced thumbs pressing out the keycode to the combination lock on his briefcase. "I assume you've both heard about the drug problem arising in Zootopia."

Judy's eyes grew in astonishment. "I thought you weren't going to put us on that drug case?" She looked to Bogo for answers; her question hung in the air.

Bogo gave a small shrug. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, Hopps."

"Aren't Fangmeyer and Delgato on that case?" Nick asked. He thought about the very few arrests they made, the lack of clues they were able to dig up; he couldn't help but feel that he and Judy would have done much better.

"They are," Bogo agreed, "and they will continue to be."

Judy's eyebrows furrowed delicately. "I don't understand."

Jack's briefcase opened with a small _pop._ "Well, first of all," the hare began, "what we're asking you to be on is not a _case_." He began to sift through the papers inside, pulling out some printed documents and a thick manila envelope. He looked at them squarely. "It's a _mission."_

"A mission?" Judy watched the hare thumb through the contents of the envelope.

"Yes. An extremely controversial one. It's not legally assigned by Chief Bogo or, even, myself."

"Then who?"

Jack shifted his eyes back down towards his papers. "The MI6." He shuffled some yellow-dyed paper with unnecessarily neat pawwriting printed across each surface.

Nick blinked a few times. He glanced at Judy, but she didn't return his gaze; she was looking absolutely shocked, one fluffy paw pressed to her collarbone.

"You're telling us to be _spies?!"_ Nick barked; he placed a protective paw aver his badge. The metal felt cold against his pawpads. "We are _co—"_

"I'm not telling you to be spies," Jack bluntly interrupted. "Skilled informants, maybe; but not spies. To be a spy, one requires years of training." It was the first time since the hare had arrived at the office that he had outwardly glared at Nick. "An untrained individual has not earned the title, and therefore is undeserving."

Jack's statement rung true, but that didn't stop Nick from feeling excessively peeved at the hare's upper hand.

"Second of all," Jack continued, "I'm not _telling_ either of you to do anything. Being a part of this mission is completely up to you."

Nick grumbled under his breath; Judy was still in a silent shock, simply observing the situation. It was a moment before Bogo piped up.

"Wilde," he testified, "I recommend that you listen to what Agent Savage has to say and get off your high tower before you make a fool of yourself."

Everything in Nick told him to lash back, to make another smart comment; but Judy was looking pleadingly at him with purple, heart-wrenchingly massive puppy eyes. He got the message: _Please, Nick. Cooperate. It'll make everything so much easier._

 _Ugh, this is absolutely traumatizing._ "Fine." His agreement was begrudgingly given, and felt too much like a surrender for Nick to be entirely comfortable with.

"Excellent," Bogo accepted. "Please, Jack, continue."

The hare nodded slightly, and cleared his throat. "As I was saying… participation in the mission is entirely up to you. But before I inform you of the details, I must know that you're willing to partake in it."

"What does it entail?" Judy asked, in her _Never Can Stopsy Flopsy Copsy_ mode. Her eyes were squinted in concentration as she listened to the hare.

"Danger… a lot of risk. We're in a time crunch. Much more intense than even the hardest ZPD case." Jack said this plainly and seriously. "This isn't a mission for the fainthearted."

Nick glanced at Judy; she had blinked a few times. It wasn't necessarily that Judy was fainthearted, but _soft-_ hearted. She cared about everything and everyone, maybe a little bit too much. It could be a good thing and a bad thing; when it was a good thing, it was a _great_ thing. When it was a bad thing, it would leave Judy crushed.

"The stakes?" she pressed, nose twitching.

Jack shifted. "Well… if we succeed, it will save lives and put the inner workings of Zootopia at peace again… and put some high-up criminals behind bars."

Nick felt his eyebrows furrow. "And if we fail?"

"The permanent corruption of Zootopia, and the general peace will be completely shattered."

Well. This was reminding Nick a bit too much of the Nighthowler case.

Nick had one more heavy question. "If this is about Zootopia, then why are you helping us?" His vision shrunk with the narrowing of his eyes. "What's in it for you?"

Jack paused for a moment, Nick's question sifting dubiously in the air; all eyes went to the hare, who was focused on the fox. His eyes were pensive, paw settled on his jaw as he thought.

"You are one skeptical mammal, Officer Wilde," Jack finally spoke. He chuckled. "That's a good thing. Your question will be answered in due time, you have my word."

This left Nick unsatisfied.

"But," the hare continued, "I can tell you that MI6 will reward you generously, if the mission is successful."

Nick suddenly felt a jolt from beside him; Judy's ears were perked and attentive, her paws clenched tightly into fists at her lap. "What kind of reward?" she blurted; her ears turned a fiery red.

 _What the heck is_ up _with her?_ Nick thought, his stomach tossing around a bit at the uncharacteristic behavior of his friend. _Since when does she care about rewards?_

Jack flicked an amused smile. "Ten thousand American dollars."

"Split?" Judy's voice was just a squeak.

Jack shook his head. "Each."

Nick's heart flew into his throat. Ten thousand dollars?! He could pay a huge portion of his tax debts off with that! Maybe he'd finally be able to buy some nice clothes, a good suit, a coat for winter. And some decent Christmas presents this year, too, for Judy and Clawhaus-

 _Wait, wait,_ he halted. _Hold up. Nick Wilde doesn't care about holidays. Nick Wilde doesn't care about good suits, either; at least for himself._ He couldn't tell whether he was amused, happy, or upset at this change. _Carrots has had way too much of an influence on you, Nick._

"I'm in," a small voice came from beside him.

 _Wait, what?_

"You're willing to go through with this, Officer Hopps?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can handle it?"

Judy nodded dutifully, the determined expression on her little face drenched with willpower. "I can."

Looking at the bunny, Nick had a sudden, massive realization; it fell on him like a Clawhauser falling from a tree. He would definitely have a talk with her later.

"And you, Officer Wilde?" Jack asked. All eyes were suddenly on the fox; Judy's hopeful, Bogo's threatening. Jack's were cool and collected.

Nick shrugged, tearing his eyes away from his bunny friend. "I have to," he answered. "If Carrots is in, then I am. She's my partner."

A smile spread over the bunny's face; Nick was relieved. He made her happy.

"You both realize, with Chief Bogo himself as a witness to your acceptance of the mission," Jack uttered, "that any tiny piece of information you are told about the case must _not_ be repeated to anyone else, or you will be in jail for the rest of your lives?"

A choking sound fell from Nick's muzzle. The rest of his _life?_ Apparently, Judy had already assumed this, and nodded at the hare for her and the fox's behalf. "Yes, we know," she replied.

Jack nodded, content. "Right. Good. Well, now for the ugly part." He laid his papers on Bogo's desk and motioned for the duo to stand in their chair.

Once they did, Nick first noticed a black-and-white picture of a raccoon on the top of the pile. He was an older mammal, a little husky, eyes as black as the mask surrounding them; he wore a very nice suit, glaring angrily down at a cell phone in his hand.

"This is Emerson Wraqune," Jack began, leaning on the desk with an elbow. "New Director of the ZIA. His predecessor, Arnoldo Furboario, recently died on the twenty-fourth of July."

"How?" Judy questioned, peering at the picture.

"Heart attack, according to his autopsy—which was conducted by the ZIA's own forensic analysists." Jack pulled another picture from the pile, and set it beside the one of Wraqune. "This was Furboario about a month before his death."

Nick leaned closer to examine the photo; it was a husked boar. Generally, any kind of hog usually leaned toward the pudgy side, but not this guy. He was a bit heavy, but not nearly to the degree of most boars; certainly in very good shape for his age, which was probably about mid-fifties.

"How old was he?" Nick asked.

"Fifty-one."

"That's strange," Judy answered, rubbing the flesh of her ear between her thumb and forefinger.

Jack glanced at her. "And why is that?" He asked this as if he already knew the answer.

She let go of her ear and it popped back up, nearly hitting Nick in the snout. "Well, hogs' bodies are meant to handle an excessive amount of fats and sugars," she answered, picking up the picture and studying his closely, holding it only inches from her nose. "Heart attacks aren't very common in species of hog, especially boars, due to their increased muscle and blood flow. It's not unheard of, and he could have had some other medical condition, but… this guy was in pretty good shape." She lowered the paper, furrowing her brows and returning Jack's gaze. "It's just weird."

Jack nodded, a satisfied quirk raising his eyebrow. "Legitimate deduction, Miss Hopps."

"Thanks."

' _Officer' Hopps. You call her 'Officer'. She's not an elementary school teacher,_ Nick wanted to spit, but he held his tongue.

"According to Furboario's personal credit card account statement, he bought relatively healthy things to eat and went to a gym regularly," Jack elaborated, pulling out a piece of paper with a complicated chart made of names of establishments and numbers of varying length. "This boar had a healthy lifestyle. To suggest he died of a heart attack seems…"

"…wrong," Nick finished.

Jack nodded respectfully. "Correct." He set the chart in front of the duo for them to examine; Nick scanned his eyes down the page. Jack was right; any food establishment that was listed was known for being organic or healthy. Nick knew these restaurants from his years on the streets. Occasionally, there would be a diner or bakery listed, but not nearly enough to be of concern.

"My tech mammal back at MI6 tried to look up his health records, to see if there was another preexisting condition Furboario had that may have led to his heart attack," Jack continued, "but all of those files were sealed up tight by the ZIA."

"How convenient," Judy muttered.

"Almost immediately after—not even two weeks—Wraqune had taken on the job as Director. And then," Jack articulated, "the beginning of August was when—"

"—when the new drug problem started happening," Nick drawled as it dawned on him.

The hare didn't seem the least bit put off that Nick kept interrupting him; in fact, he looked pleased. "Precisely. Suspicious, don't you think?"

"Extremely," agreed Judy, picking at her bottom lip with one finger in deep thought.

Jack set his eyes on the buffalo behind the desk, who had been watching silently with his arms crossed and a contemplative clench of his jaw. "Do you wish to relay to the officers your pleasant experience with the Director, Chief?"

Bogo shrugged nonchalantly, and swallowed. "Well, when Fangmeyer and Delgato weren't getting anywhere with the case and the bodies were piling up, I went to ask Director Wraqune for help from the ZIA; I figured, since this was his city as well as mine, he would be more than happy to give me his agents' assistance."

"And?" Nick let the single syllable ring in his throat.

Bogo grunted. "He refused. He told me that my officers could handle it, and that it was probably Bellwether's old accomplices finishing her work." His voice had lowered to practically a growl. "He seemed quite keen to sweep it all under the rug."

"Up to no good," Judy stated matter-of-factly, crossing her arms and glaring at the picture of the raccoon. Her eyes flashed menacingly.

"We assume he is," Jack corrected. "There are, that we know, seventeen different predators in all that took or were given the drug in question."

"How do we know it's not Nighthowler serum?" Nick questioned.

"After the drug is taken, the savage behavior only lasts for a certain amount of time; this drug also leaves the mammal who ingested it extremely ill. Nighthowler antidote was not effective when attempted, either."

Judy groaned; Nick inwardly agreed.

"Be aware, also, that the reason the four savage predators were found by the ZPD was because they were admitted into a hospital or a morgue." Jack pulled out some autopsy reports and handed them to the fox. "For the four predators that have been discovered so far, all fell into extreme illness immediately afterward; three died within hours."

Nick's eyes widened at the words that had been scribbled on all three of the autopsy reports, on the blank beside where it said _Cause of Death._ "Cardiac arrest…" the words tumbled out of Nick's mouth clumsily.

Jack nodded. "Easily misconceived as a heart attack to anyone lacking medical knowledge, or vice versa."

 _So Furboario could have died by the same drug._ The unspoken statement rolled between the mammals, each taking a moment to absorb the idea.

"So Wraqune lied?!" suddenly exclaimed Judy, tiny paws clenched on the documents Jack had given her to look over.

"Not just Wraqune, Miss Hopps," Jack answered, "but anyone in the ZIA that dealt with any part of Furboario's death."

Nick felt too overwhelmed to be concerned with Jack calling Judy _Miss Hopps_ again. "So what you're saying is," Nick clarified, shaking his head in disbelief, "that right now, there's a good possibility that the ZIA is behind the drug problem?"

"Possibly," Jack corrected. "It's more likely that Wraqune and a few goons are behind it and he's simply manipulating his agents into doing what he wants; Bogo and I figured this because he wasn't willing to give the assistance of his agents. If he had the whole ZIA involved, he wouldn't be afraid to let his agents investigate it." He shrugged. "Either way, it would mean that the ZIA is corrupt."

"And that would mean that _Zootopia_ would be corrupt," Judy whispered fearfully, as if the mere mention of it left her sick to her stomach. "Oh, sweet cheese n' crackers…"

"There's more." Jack thumbed through his papers and pulled out some more pictures; they were more pixelated than the photos of the directors, as if the camera had zoomed in from a distance. Others looked as if they were taken from security camera footage, some better quality than their neighbors.

"These are all security and surveillance photos of Wraqune," the agent said, spreading the photos across the desk. "Look at this one." He pointed at a picture right in front of Judy, who was between the fox and the hare.

It was, presumably, in a country club. Wraqune was decked out in tacky golf clothes, a driver in his left paw and an otter golf boy behind him, carrying the rest of his clubs. He seemed to be making friendly conversation with a young, well-muscled lion; a _familiar_ lion.

"That's—That's Dick Sandeclaw!" Judy piped up, pointing at the large cat. "Fengmeyer found him a couple hours after he had attacked and killed two prey in Sahara Square. He was…"

"Dead," Nick finished, wincing at the sight of the lion. From what he heard, it was not pretty. He looked at Bogo, who had been silently observing their conversation; he remained expressionless.

Jack gave a _hm_ of agreement. "Found lying in a ditch behind a Bug-Burga." He pointed to another picture. This showed the inside of a grocery store, Wraqune helping a small badger woman pick up some dropped items.

"Julianna Ratel," Judy whispered, her voice barely recognizable. "She... had a husband. Two kits. I remember Delgato talking about her to Fengmeyer."

"This badger was also one of the predators killed by the drug," Jack mentioned. "Hospitalized for having a cardiac arrest almost immediately after attacking a coworker, and died shortly after being admitted." He pulled out a page that was lying under another picture; this photo featured Wraqune laughing amiably with a grizzly bear, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of alcohol. They were inside a liquor store.

"Kyle Grizzby," Nick uttered through clenched teeth when he saw the bear, who was firmly clasping a large bottle of vodka. "I have to admit, him messing around with this drug doesn't surprise me. Judy and I have caught the kid a dozen times illegally purchasing and consuming alcohol with a fake ID."

"He died in the hospital, too," Judy choked out; her eyes were dry and to anyone else, she'd just look in shock- but Nick knew better. He placed a paw on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her. He knew that she hoped the bear would eventually set himself straight.

"All of the predators that the ZPD is hunting down or have found have all conversed with Wraqune at least once," Jack said, waving a paw across the pictures; each one featured Wraqune communicating with various predators one way or another. "Most likely more than once; he visits these places quite often."

"More evidence that he's associated with the drug ring." Nick gave a small squeeze to Judy's shoulder; she visibly relaxed.

Jack nodded. "The problem is… this isn't enough for me to take him down," he admitted slowly. "And if I do have enough evidence to take him down, then the whereabouts of the drug or anyone else associated with his schemes is unknown. If I try to get my tech mammal to do any further digging, it could send a signal to the ZIA that MI6 is investigating them."

"So that's what we're going to do," Judy replied, a small smile forming on her face as she motioned around the group with a flourish of her paw. "We're gonna find out the nitty-gritty details, stop this raccoon from killing innocent mammals, and save Zootopia!"

Jack smiled back, seemingly amused by her enthusiasm. "Precisely."

"Alright, _Sir Crumpet,_ how are we gonna do that?" Nick asked plainly, leaning back against the seat's backrest. "We can make it seem all easy peasy nice n' cheesy, but it isn't. Right?"

"Right. Never is, is it?" Jack pulled out another paper from his pile; this was cardstock, fancy red and black script gracing the front; he turned it to face the officers. The calligraphy read, _You Are Invited._ "One of Wraqune's two sons, Louis Wraqune, is getting married a week and a half from now at Wraqune's estate. That will be our cover while we sneak into his manor and try to find more puzzle pieces to fit together." He let the wedding invitation fall from his fingers and onto the desktop; it opened to reveal the invitation was sent to Chief Bogo. "Eventually, we'll have to sneak into the ZIA headquarters itself."

Judy sucked in air through her teeth in sudden anxiety, causing her to make a snake-like _hiss._ "Oh, goodness."

"It's risky," Jack replied, chuckling. "But think of sneaking into Wraqune's manor as the trial run before the real deal."

Nick raised his paw. "Am I allowed to ask questions now?" He didn't hesitate to add a disobedient edge to his voice.

"Of course," the hare replied.

"So, I assume that the reason you're requesting assistance from two relatively fresh and _undeserving_ officers of the ZPD is because you can't bring in other agents?"

Jack didn't acknowledge the smartness in Nick's voice. The fox was starting to believe that this hare was incapable of perceiving any degree of emotion besides solemnity. "Yes. It would attract attention from the ZIA."

"How would the ZIA know?" Judy asked.

Jack gave a long, contemplative pause. "If there is one thing you need to know about the ZIA and MI6, is that we are sister organizations," he explained, once again tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. "We have a certain…alliance, if you will. An understanding. The ZIA has drones everywhere; if the ZIA saw that the MI6 was sending in not just one agent, but a _team_ of agents, under their nose without telling them, it would be an insult. Wraqune would also deduce that we are there for a mission we do not wish for him to know of; he would suspect we were investigating him. Which we are." He shrugged. "We'd have the ZIA on our tails before you can say 'knife'."

Nick took a moment to comprehend the unfamiliar British idiom.

"So here's what's going to happen." Jack began to gather the photos and papers together, organizing them into a single, neat stack. "We will continue to let these Delgato and Fangmeyer blokes work on the case; Chief Bogo," he said as he turned to the buffalo, "please make sure that neither of these officers interferes with our mission."

Bogo gave a single nod. "Understood."

"Secondly," Jack continued, placing his papers back in his briefcase and shutting it closed with a sharp _clack,_ "I will remain under the alias of Jackson Russel. If anyone asks, I am here to deal with the matter of Officer Wilde's tax evasion complications and what that means financially for both the ZPD and himself."

It felt like someone slipped a bar of soap into a sock, wailed it around a few times and smacked Nick in the chest with it. "How do _you_ know about my tax evasion?!"

A smirk playing on his face, Jack glanced up at the fox. "Do you really think that I was going to agree to work with two police officers, and not _at least_ look them up first?" He snapped his combination lock closed on his briefcase, giving it a tug to make sure it was latched properly. "I would recommend holding back on those blueberry smoothies, Officer. An over-abundance of antioxidants can inflict harm upon your immune system."

 _How does he know about the blueberry smoothies?!_ Nick had to hold back a growl from rising into his throat. _I always buy them with cash! Creepy rabbit. Ugh._

Jack cleared his throat and adjusted his tie with one paw, clasping his briefcase in the other. "I do believe that this meeting has drawn to a close," he said, placing his case onto his lap. "Officers, I will see you three days from now at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. I want to see your capabilities—and limitations—for myself."

Nick noticed Bogo raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. Nick also noticed the small rabbit sitting beside him; she was looking extremely puzzled, making a weird expression at the hare. Her nose was twitching rapidly.

"Remember," Jack warned, slipping deftly off the chair and brushing off the front of his expensive suit, "Not one word to another mammal. I'll know." He focused pointedly on them with an intense blue-grey glare.

"Aye-aye, _Sir Crumpet,"_ Nick couldn't help but snicker, pushing his voice into an exaggerated British accent. He gave the hare a mock salute.

Jack gave no sign of any irritation at Nick's attitude or the blatant jab at his ethnicity. He simply gave a small respectful nod to both the officers and to the Chief, who was glowering at the fox. "Good day, Chief. Officers," the hare muttered. He walked to the coatrack and plucked his trilby hat from one arm.

"Wait!" Judy interjected; the hare turned to look at her with one long eyebrow raised in interest. "You never answered Nick's question—why are you doing this?" she squeaked. "Why do you care?"

Jack pulled his coat from the rack as well, and settled it over one arm as he contemplated a way to answer her question. "Well—"

All of a sudden, sounds of static erupted from Bogo's phone on his desk, interrupting the hare's words. All eyes went to the phone; Nick's heart jumped into his throat. Clawhauser wouldn't interrupt this meeting unless whatever situation he needed to inform Bogo about was an emergency, especially since getting caught listening in.

" _S-Sir!"_ Clawhauser's voice sputtered through the speaker. _"Sir, I'm sorry, I know you're in a meeting—"_

Bogo punched the respond button with his hoof. "Just spit it out, Clawhauser!"

A clear of the throat. _"Yes, right. Fengmeyer and Delgato apprehended another predator gone savage by the drug today, sir! A coyote. Attacked a young doe. Both mammals had to be life-flighted to the hospital… It's bad, sir."_

The buffalo gave a deep groan; Judy glanced over at Nick, her eyes wide with shock. That was the second doe attacked; the first one didn't live. This made prey victims… what, in the high twenties? Nineteen of these victims ended up dying during the attacks or in the hospital afterward.

"I'm on my way," Bogo replied gruffly. "Tell Fengmeyer and Delgato I'll see them at the hospital."

More static. _"One…One more thing, sir."_

"What _is_ it, Clawhauser?! I have to go!"

A nervous cough came through the speaker, and a pause. _"Th-The coyote…he's Jeremy Packard."_

Bogo's eyes immediately went to Judy and Nick; he couldn't see Jack's eyes, but he was sure that the hare was examining them, too.

Nick didn't feel stunned; he only felt dread. Like he had swallowed a hedgehog; his esophagus burned, and he noted how weird it felt for his heart not to be in his chest and to be in his stomach instead. That name— _Jeremy Packard_ —was familiar to him and Judy both. Way too familiar.

He looked at Judy; her eyes were as wide as saucers and eerily glassy, her nose twitching almost too fast for it to be recognizable. She mouthed a single syllable to her fox partner.

" _Sam."_

Jack quietly cleared his throat behind them; when Nick looked back at him, he was sliding his coat over his disgustingly nice Italian suit. "That is one of many reasons why I am doing this, Officers," the hare affirmed. "To save lives. That is a good enough reason for you, yes?"

… … … … …

 **Man oh man, I am so glad that's over with! The technical stuff is always the hardest part to hash out for me; I love emotional fluffy junk. But I promised myself that I would go through with it, so I am. This ended up being a slow chapter, too, but only because I had to go through with explaining all the details I left out in the past two chapters; answer some questions for you guys, maybe raise some new ones. ;)**

 **I'm also very NERVOUS to post this chapter! I have a plot laid out, but I have a tendency to go back and change a lot as I write… I'm nervous I'll think of different, better things to make it more exciting or patch up the plot holes. D: I hope everything made sense to everyone, and that it wasn't boring.**

 **I absolutely can't wait to get into Jack's character—I honestly love Jack. He's one handsome bun. Mm-mm. I decided to make him a hare and change it up a bit, but it doesn't make him any less lovable. Speaking of Jack, I hope I'm using these British idioms and slang correctly…?**

 **Also, why does Nick dislike this hare so much? I don't even think he knows why he doesn't like him; maybe things will change. ;) And there's a solution to Judy's money problem! She now not only wants to succeed with this mission to save Zootopia, but also to continue being a cop. It'll make her ten times more determined to do great on this mission! Go, Judy!**

 **I'm excited to continue; it might get a bit sad, just a warning. Please leave your thoughts, and if anyone has ANY advice or anything, don't be afraid to say so.**


	4. Fortress Walls and Jumbotrons

**Warning beforehand! I have no medical experience whatsoever. I tried my best to do my research and stuff, but the fact of the matter is, I don't know if it's 100% accurate. Heck, I don't know if it's 30% accurate. Just bear with me if it's not.**

 **Thanks, Hawktooth, for the name of this doe. Credits to you~**

 **Hope you enjoy. (:**

… … … … …

 **Chapter Four: Fortress Walls and Jumbotrons**

Despite her longing to reconcile with him, Judy would have given anything to prevent the circumstances leading to their reunion with Sam.

Bogo had insisted on Nick and Judy accompanying him to the hospital. They had been Sam's foundation for the longest time, after all, and were the only officers that had a chance of effectively comforting the coyote. Jack wanted to come, as well, claiming it was so he could see the effects of this mysterious drug for himself; he told them that he would meet them there, and abruptly left.

Judy suspected that wasn't the only reason Jack wanted to go to the hospital, but didn't acknowledge it; to her, there was nothing else more important that getting to Sam before he tore himself apart.

When they entered the hospital and Bogo exchanged a few private words with Mr. Packard's nurse, Nick had placed a warm, comforting paw on her back and kept it there. It felt good; sturdy. His comfort was a necessity for Judy, especially at a time like this, and she was silently thankful that Nick knew she needed it.

When she entered the Mr. Packard's hospital room alone, it didn't feel strange for Judy to see the young coyote in Zootopia Medical Hospital again. What was strange was that this time, Sam was sitting beside the hospital bed and not in it—and that his father was the one hooked up to the breathing machines.

Judy felt something catch in her throat when she saw this. She had a certain fear hang over her for a long time: she would walk into the hospital room and see Sam barely hanging onto his life, IVs tangled around his arms and his paws and the heart monitor counting down the seconds he had to live. Fortunately, the coyote laying in the bed wasn't Sam, but he looked so much like him that it made Judy's heart jolt. It wasn't until she focused on the slightly smaller coyote beside the bed that she let herself release the breath she was holding.

Sam looked as tired as a sun-dried cornstalk. He was dressed in a ruffled button-up shirt, cuffs and collar unbuttoned messily; a navy blazer hung over the back of his chair. Judy couldn't see his face, but his muzzle poked through the two trembling paws that were pressed against his eyes. His mouth was open slightly, and Judy could hear his breaths like they were right next to her ear—shallow, quick.

Judy felt a simmering mix of concern and dread churn at the base of her belly. A quick once-over of the room revealed that Sam didn't bring much more than his blazer, with the exception of his glasses—which were currently tossed onto a nearby table next to three empty Styrofoam coffee cups.

Judy tried her best not to look at the older coyote laying in the bed, currently unconscious. That wretched canine wasn't her concern right now—his son was, who had not yet seen that the rabbit had entered.

She took one cautious step forward; she paused for one long, stretching moment before she finally let herself whisper, "Sam."

The coyote's head popped up suddenly, his brown eyes wide with surprise and rimmed with fatigue. A relieved puff escaped his mouth when he set his eyes on the bunny. "J…Judy?"

Judy felt a certain tightness release its hold on her heart. She was so, _so_ scared that she would walk in and Sam would reject her completely, insist that he needed to be alone. But he didn't! In fact, he looked _grateful_ that she was here.

This is what made Judy run forward and wrap her little arms around the coyote's fluffy neck; Sam didn't seem at all surprised by her sudden movement. She pressed herself tightly to him, knowing he needed the comfort more than anything else at that moment.

"Oh, Sam," she murmured into his shoulder, feeling the shudder of oncoming sobs racking his chest as his shaking arms weakly hugged her back. "I'm sorry, bud, I'm so sorry."

"N-No," he answered in return, his voice thick; Judy could tell he was trying his best to hold back tears. " _I'm_ sorry…Judy, you guys were so nice to me and I just—"

"Samuel Packard," she chided, pushing him away so she could look him in the eyes. "That is the _last_ thing I am concerned about right now. This is not about me or Nick, this is about _you_." She pointed at him with one fluffy finger, narrowing her eyes to further prove how serious she was about her statement.

Sam nodded, giving a great sigh. His breath smelled like bitter coffee. "I don't know what happened," he murmured shakily. "I really don't…he…"

Judy shushed him, placing a paw onto his shoulder. "You don't have to talk about it right now, Sam…"

"I know I don't, but I'm going to have to eventually. It's going to be equally hard either way."

Judy chuckled lowly; it was so typically Sam, immediately getting down to the ugly part of the subject before assessing anything else. "Do you want to wait for Nick?"

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes lowering. Suddenly, he seemed so much older to Judy; his boyishly handsome features were marked with the darkness of age. "Y…Yeah."

"Well, he went to get food. He'll be back in just a second," she answered.

A knock sounded from behind Judy, and Sam's eyes flicked to the door. Judy turned to see, as well, and discovered that it was the fox himself, holding a plastic bag and a drink carrier.

Nick looked like he was going to let something sarcastic and amusing fall out of his mouth, until he thought better of it and shifted his expression into a compassionate smile. He set the food on a nearby table. "Hey, kid."

"Good...good to see you, Wilde."

The two canines pushed toward each other, shaking paws; Judy was sure it would have been a much more joyous greeting if they had not been in the current situation. Nick dared to clap the taller coyote amiably on the shoulder and chuckle, to which Sam gave a small, worn smile.

Nick glanced his green eyes over to the coyote in the hospital bed, and his face flinched. Judy knew he was trying to hold back a grimace for Sam's sake, but she had to agree that the sight of Mr. Packard in this was both horrifying and, admittedly, only slightly satisfying. Any other day they would have said he deserved every amount of pain he endured…but the fact that the crushing of Sam's heart came along with his downfall made it that much less gratifying for the two officers—well, for Judy, at least. But she was sure Nick felt the same.

Nick cleared his throat. "Do…Do you want to go to the cafeteria to eat? The other police have to talk to the doctor, it might take a little bit."

Sam looked torn for a moment, glancing back toward his comatose father with a reluctant pull of his lips.

"It would probably be better," Judy whispered, setting a comforting paw onto Sam's arm. "Give you a chance to breathe, you know?"

After a long, heavy moment, Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah…Yeah, that's a good idea."

When the trio walked out of the hospital room, Sam gave no move to look at the two police officers and the Chief, who were standing patiently in the waiting area. Judy had no idea where Jack was, and that made her uncomfortable…but her focus was on Sam now. Their time in the cafeteria would give Delgato, Fengmeyer and Bogo a few minutes to discuss Mr. Packard's condition with the doctor without fear of emotionally harming Sam any further.

… … … … …

Jack patiently listened from around the corner of the waiting room, trench coat unbuttoned and hat hanging in his paw by his side. He pretended to be browsing a vending machine filled with brightly-wrapped, carbohydrate-packed Zootopian selections of biscuits and crisps; but his attention was not on the ridiculous snacks. His ears were turned slightly towards the waiting area, listening intently.

"Delgato, Fangmeyer, change of plans," Bogo's voice grumbled as an elevator gave a small ding. "I want you to go find and interview any possible witnesses of the attack. I'll handle the doctor."

A small huff of indignation. "But, sir, there weren't many mammals ar—"

"You think someone couldn't have heard the screams of a doe getting mauled?!" Bogo snapped. "Leave no rock unturned, you two. I would have expected you to already know that."

A series of awkward shuffles. "Y…Yes, sir."

"I expect reports on my desk before the end of the night. Dismissed."

Jack let his eyes skitter away from the vending machine as he waited for the tiger and the wolf to leave. Once he heard the familiar _ding_ of the elevator beginning its descent, he turned away from the vending machine and made his way around the corner. There he found Bogo waiting patiently, arms crossed tensely and his eyebrows pursed only slightly.

"Thanks, old chap." Jack nodded at the buffalo in appreciation. It was important that the other officers didn't see Jack at the hospital, for why would the new accountant need to be there?

Bogo grunted. "I should talk to the doctor, too."

"No, no," Jack disagreed, firmly shaking his head. "I'll fill you in. I'm sure you have a lot of things to get in order because of this incident, so I'll let you take your leave."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely, Chief. Thank you."

After a brief farewell and Bogo's reluctant trip into the elevator, Jack cleared his throat and straightened his tie. He had had just enough time to drop back by his hotel and pick up a few necessities for getting this information out of the doctors; his American accent may have not gotten much practice, but now was a better time to exercise it than never.

"Excuse me," he said to a passing nurse, a small bunny with brown fur whose nametag read _Becky_. "Can you tell me where Dr. Whistlers is?"

Jack noticed the bunny's ears turning a bright shade of pink. "Uh…well, the doctor's a bit busy right now..." she murmured, clutching her tiny clipboard to her chest.

"Are they with a patient?" He had to force himself to use simpler language; he was so tempted to say, _Might I ask if he or she is currently tending to a patient?_ When acting, he had to remember that Americans were much more to-the-point.

 _Ugh. You need a better performance, Jack._

But the nurse believed his act; she shook her head, running a small paw along the base of her ear distractedly. "Er…no. She's doing paperwork, I'm afraid."

Jack reached into the inside pocket of his suitcoat and pulled out a shiny badge, sitting dutifully at the end of a worn ball chain. He showed it to the nurse, and her eyes widened slightly at the sight of it. "I just have a few questions about her patient, Mr. Packard. Do y'think you could get her to see me…" he glanced down at her nametag again and smiled, "…Becky?"

Her ears turned a fiery red, and she clutched her clipboard like it was her life support. "Er…" she glanced at a nearby set of double doors, which presumably led to another hallway. "I'll…see what I can do. You…" She swallowed. "What was your name?"

"Detective Logan Danvers, ma'am."

She nodded quickly, and began to shuffle past him with haste. "I'll…I'll go let him know, Detective," she managed as she inched away.

Jack gave her what he knew was a flirtatious smile. "Thanks, doll. I'll be waiting out here."

She nodded again and rushed off toward the double doors, her ears standing perfectly erect and her strides a clumsy staccato.

Jack couldn't help but chuckle. He especially liked playing Logan Danvers, an American detective with a tendency for flirtation; Jack had developed more of a serious personality that went along with his traditional British values and job occupation, so acting as this rabbit with—what Jack imagined to be—a lifestyle that included watching football games in bars and sweettalking the ladies into stupors was, he had to admit, quite amusing.

A few minutes later, the flustered nurse named Becky returned and managed to force out a stammer that sounded something along the lines of, "Follow me."

She led him through the double doors and into an office. There was a desk, meticulously neat and covered in various trinkets; snow globes, little glass and wooden figurines, patterned picture frames. Despite the dust-collecting potential that it all had, the desk didn't have one speck on any surface it may have possessed; the only thing that could possibly have qualified as "clutter" would have been the neat stacks of paperwork shoved to one side and the obviously stressed dhole that sat behind it in a wrinkled lab coat.

Dr. Whistler's appearance was much messier than her office let on, with her ruffled fur and creased face; she glanced up at the hare and gave a deep, silent sigh, motioning in with one paw. "Thanks, Rebecka."

The nurse nodded and slunk back. Just before she slipped out the door, though, Jack gave her one last winning smile that Logan Danvers surely would have sent her way; her ears almost immediately turned pink, and she quickly ducked out without saying another word.

Dr. Whistler set a pair of crooked glasses at the end of her nose, and held out a paw to the hare. "Rebecka said you were a detective."

Jack reached and shook it firmly. "Yes ma'am. I'm here to ask some questions about Jeremy Packard, then I swear up n' down I'll be outta your fur."

She gave a slight _tch._ "Oh, believe me, I want this figured out as much as you do. What did you say your name was?"

"Didn't say, ma'am. Detective Logan Danvers." The American accent was coming out easier now.

"Ah," was her reply. "Well, Mr. Danvers, I assume you're here because you want more information abot this damned drug?"

Jack nodded, taking a seat in one of the doctor's desk chairs; he took a moment to note, that unlike most doctor's offices, this one didn't have large posters of detailed portions of mammal's anatomy. "Cops are working on it, too, but the Chief thought they might need my help."

"I see." The dhole focused on his over the rims of her wire glasses pointedly. "What exactly do you want to know?"

"Just start from the beginning. What you know."

She cleared her throat, and supported her weight with her elbows on the desk as she laced her fingers together. "Well, I only know the effects of the drug, and parts of the drug. I don't know what the drug is itself."

"Okay," Jack said.

"I specialize in canine medicine; I wasn't the doctor of the other two kickers, but those doctors and I have collaborated...the amount of toxins that were in the two mammals' systems as well as Mr. Packard's was enough to send an elephant into cardiac arrest." She quickly leaned over to her stack of paperwork and started thumbing through it, dark eyes jumping from page to page. "That in and of itself makes it very difficult to treat."

"Why is that?"

Dr. Whistlers looked up at him pointedly. "Because, Detective, all things consumed contain _some_ amount of toxins. Our body filters these toxins, but our body can only do so at a certain pace. If too much of anything is consumed all at once, then it could cause serious harm to a body. The livers of these mammals were basically soup by the time they died."

"So what you're saying," Jack replied pensively, "is that they could have made this drug out of almost anything."

She nodded. "Correct." Pulling a paper and laying it flat on her desk, she ran a finger along the printed lines. "What tells us that it's a drug and not a bunch of mammals coincidentally binging on preservative-coated goodies all at once is…yep, here it is." She slid the page over to the hare. "Benzoylmethylecgonine."

Jack looked down at the report, and then back up at the doctor. "Cocaine?"

"There's a reason they call it _angel dust_."

Jack was not a medical professional, but he certainly knew a lot about the body; he also knew a lot about drugs, being in the spy business and all. But Logan Danvers did not know much about these things. He knew a lot about the law and where to get the best bean steak, but not about medicine. Jack had to remind himself this as he connected the dots in his head along with the doctor.

Jack peered down at the paper, making a show of not being able to discern its text. "Well, an overdose of cocaine can lead to cardiac arrest, right? Is that why they died?"

Dr. Whistlers sniffed, and pushed her glasses up her snout. "We thought that at first, but the levels of cocaine in their systems actually shouldn't have been enough to cause an overdose. It was likely the combination of cocaine and another agent that caused the cardiac arrests. The presence of cocaine could also mean that it may be addictive."

"Did you find any indication of what the other agent might be?"

She motioned for the paper, which Jack handed to her; she skimmed down it with one finger. "Our druggies had super-high levels of potassium, which is probably the other half of the reason for their cardiac arrests. They also had high levels of folate, copper, phosphorus, niacin…"

Jack sighed, and rubbed the top of his head with one paw. "So, basically anything we can consider to be consumable."

"Essentially." She glanced again down at the page. "I mean, we could narrow it down to plants and bugs—or, even fish and poultry—that contain higher levels of potassium, but we would still be left with a list that has tens of thousands of possibilities." She took a deep breath, slapping the page on the top of her pile in frustration. "But the fact of the matter is, anyone can take a massive amount of something that is low in any nutrient, concentrate the nutrient from…whatever is may be, and receive high levels of the nutrient."

"And they couldn't buy bulk of potassium itself, because that would be too trackable," Jack murmured as he rubbed his chin with a paw. "They'd have to harvest it."

"I suppose."

Jack thought for a moment. "Well, were there any special toxins?"

"The toxins that were in their bodies were toxins that are found everywhere." The dhole scratched her cheeks with a few claws. "And to add on to our bad luck, by the time they died and we were done frantically trying to keep them alive, there's no telling what their bodies had already processed and filtered."

"Did they vomit?"

Dr. Whistlers cocked an eyebrow. "Odd question, Detective."

Jack shrugged; he had forgotten to be Logan for a moment. "I just figured that you could sample the puke for the toxins they already processed, or something." _Focus, Jack!_

"Well, I wasn't going to be the one to scrape it off the floor," she answered bluntly. "But fortunately, we have a living patient who had a cardiac arrest because of this drug." She took off her glasses and slowly set them on the desk next to a milky glass figurine of a palm tree. "Unfortunately, when I tested him, I didn't find anything else different. It's a wonder he's still alive."

"How _is_ he alive?"

Dr. Whistlers shifted uncomfortably, her dark eyes suddenly ladled with sadness. "We're…not sure, to be honest," she replied carefully. "But what we are sure of is that it won't be much longer before his body will decide to quit on him."

"So the drug is fatal."

"Not necessarily," she answered. "Either this drug is extremely potent, or our druggies took a whole bunch of it. There's no way to tell." She picked up the paper she was examining earlier and waved it in the air, her evidence for her claims. "With the amount of shit that had been crammed into them, if they didn't die by cardiac arrest they would have died by liver failure. That's what's threatening Mr. Packard's life right now."

There was a small length of subdued silence that covered the office for a moment, before Jack decided to speak up again. "How do they go savage?"

She looked down at a tiny picture fame and adjusted it on the desktop. "There's no indication in any of their systems of a toxin or poison that makes them become aggressive."

He suppressed a groan. _This mission is growing increasingly more vexing_ , Jack thought to himself.

The dhole shrugged. "I do know that the cocaine could play a role in their aggression, though. Cocaine makes its takers paranoid; it can also make them aggressive, though it wouldn't make these mammals as violent as they were, even if they are predators." She leaned back into her office chair and crossed her lanky arms. "It doesn't necessarily _cause_ aggression, but it's the source of their increase in paranoia, which in turn could feed their aggression."

 _Lovely._ "I do have one more question, Doctor."

"Okay, shoot."

"If this drug could be fatal," he said carefully, "then why haven't the other dozen or so predators been admitted into hospitals? Do they have no need for a hospital?"

For a moment, she was unmoving. She simply stared at Jack with dark, somber eyes. Finally, she replied, "I don't know."

Jack didn't feel any more frustrated by this; he couldn't possibly have. He just added to the top of the already-massive pile labeled _figure out later._ "Brilliant…"

"But," Dr. Whistlers continued, tapping one claw against a tiny porcelain doll. _Tink, tink._ "What I do know is that if the drug _is_ fatal, they're probably dead, or on the brink of it."

Jack grit his teeth, concentrating hard on a wooden figurine of a bird sitting on the edge of her desk. _Then whether it's deadly or not...someone definitely doesn't want them found._

… … … … …

"Sam, you really should eat. Just drinking coffee isn't good for you."

Judy had chosen a table for them by a window that looked over the street, with the dim light of dusk glinting off nearby buildings and into the cafeteria. Nick knew that she probably figured a view like this would cheer Sam up a little bit, give him a little taste of sunlight. They were sitting with their meal spread out before them; Sam had the window seat. He kept stealing glances outside.

Nick had purposely bought Sam's favorite: Italian food. A big chunk of lasagna oozing marinara sauce and beetle bits steamed inside the to-go container that sat in front of Sam, but the coyote just picked at it; he hadn't taken a single bite yet.

"Thanks, Wilde," Sam murmured, sending the fox a halfhearted smile. "For the food."

"Yeah, no problem, kid," Nick replied. He tried to read Sam, but he wasn't exactly an open book; unlike Judy, who was more like a Jumbotron than a book. "But Carrots is right; you should eat. Nothing is a bigger thank-you than an empty plate."

Sam stared down at the lasagna for a moment. "I…I'm not very hungry. Sorry."

"That's okay," Judy whispered, placing a comforting paw on his shoulder. "Nick and I…we just figured that it would give you some strength."

Nick flicked his sight from Sam to Judy, who was retreating her paw and gazing sadly down at her garden primavera. Nick relished in the fact the he could almost always read her; right now, with her twitching nose and slightly pouting lips, she was upset that she couldn't do more to help Sam.

He suddenly had a strange, overwhelming sensation to hug her. _Weirdo._

"Jessica and I are engaged, you know."

Judy's eyebrows soared and she gasped; Nick blinked at the coyote, astonished. "Wait, what?"

Sam chuckled lowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry I didn't tell you guys sooner."

"You better be sorry!" Judy teasingly scolded, poking at Sam with one fuzzy finger. "That's a big deal, Sam!"

"Yeah, we didn't even know that you two had gotten back together," Nick mentioned, leaning over his eggplant-stuffed ravioli. "She seemed pretty…pretty set on…uh…" he tugged on his collar as Judy pointedly glared at him. "…becoming independent." _Whew. Well said, Nicky._

The coyote shrugged, and dared to place a marinara-soaked beetle into his mouth. "After a while, I... realized how much of a pansy I was being. So I moved out of my dad's place." He gave a sputtered laugh, carefully placing his fork on the table. "You guys were right, I should have pressed charges on him."

"Sam…" Judy muttered, her voice silky smooth and dripping with honey. She had used that voice on Nick so many times before; it made every part of him soften up like butter in the sun.

But Sam just shook his head, slumping tiredly. "It's really…" He placed his head in a paw. "It's really shitty that it took twenty trips to the hospital, losing two friends, and Jessica breaking up with me to realize that."

"Sam, bud," Nick intervened, trying his best to give the coyote a sincere-looking smile. "Everyone makes mistakes. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"But… I hurt you guys."

Judy scoffed. "You have your father in the hospital in critical condition and you think we're worried about our _feelings?"_

Sam wavered for a moment, looking down at the headstrong bunny with glassy eyes; and, for one moment, he was completely vulnerable. Nick could see he was suffering deeply, under too much stress for a coyote as young as he was; his heart was completely broken.

That's when Nick realized.

"Sam," he suddenly felt himself whisper, his voice tearing through his throat like briars. "Sam, was _Jessica_ the doe that Packard attacked?"

Judy's eyes widened into saucers, and she looked to the coyote for confirmation.

A tear slid down onto Sam's muzzle. "Stupid…" he growled. Then all of a sudden, he slammed his fists onto the table; their food boxes jumped with the impact. _"Stupid!_ I'm a stupid piece of shit!"

Judy leaned toward him, her paw outstretched. "Sam—"

"It's all my fault, Judy! It's…all my fault." Tears started to drip onto the table. "As soon I moved out and got a new place across town, I went and bought a ring and proposed to Jessica! Just...right there, in front her employer's house. At ten o'clock at night."

"Where she nannies?" Nick asked carefully.

Sam nodded, pressing his palms to his exhaustion-ladled, watery eyes. "That's how I found her…I had saved up so much money, I was going to get her that daycare she's always wanted! I told her about my new apartment, how it was nice, and once I graduated with my biochemistry degree we could start a family, maybe adopt a few kits…and buy a house with a…" he sniffed, running a paw over his furry grey-and-brown head. "…a white picket fence and all that. I…" he chuckled through his tears. "I had no idea she would actually say yes."

"How is that stupid?" Judy insisted, a warm smile caressing her face. "That's sweet, Sam! Very romantic."

"It's stupid because I thought I could do it without my dad finding out!" he snapped; Judy didn't recoil, though. Lord knows she was used to the teeth, with Nick snapping playfully at her all the time.

The fox sucked a breath in. "How did he find out?"

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter," the coyote replied, flinging his paws up in the air in exasperation. "One moment Jessica and I are at my place, talking about our wedding and eating bean dip, and the next thing I know my dad comes rampaging in."

"And he attacked."

"No! He just screamed at me. He was going to hit me, but Jessica had threatened to break his kneecaps with a baseball bat," he said, and suddenly gave a wide grin. His tears' paths flexed with the wrinkling of his cheeks. "I love that doe, man…God."

Nick glanced at Judy, who was already looking at him with a set of very furrowed eyebrows.

"But he had threatened me," Sam continued, "said that I was going to regret getting engaged to a scum prey and that…he would disown me as a son if I did."

"And what did you say?" Judy asked, her voice a tiny, concerned squeak.

"I told him to get his ass out of my apartment." A small gurgling sound came out of Sam's mouth, like he was trying to hold back a sob. "I… I t-told him that I would disown h-him as a father before he would disown me as a…as a son. I even…" his fists clenched on the table and his lips curled up into a suffered snarl. "I even went and got a last name change! After that night, I couldn't stand the thought of Jessica or whatever children we have getting that… that _prick's_ last name."

Nick felt a mixture of worry, satisfaction, and shock. When he and Judy used to communicate with Sam often, the coyote would insist that his dad was "a good guy, really, he just has prejudice" and that Sam would endure his abuse and not press charges because if Mr. Packard didn't have an outlet, then "innocent prey like Jessica will be the punching bag". Nick and Judy pushed and pushed the coyote to press charges against his father since he was a legal adult, but he wouldn't—not even for Jessica, whose relationship with him was the reason for Mr. Packard's abuse.

So to see Sam angry at his father, calling him names he deserved to be called was...relieving, but also concerning. Relieving because Sam finally realized what Packard was doing to him and he moved on with his life, but concerning because Sam standing up to his father resulted in this horrific situation, and Sam realized that.

It was also concerning because Sam's anger at his father was evidence that the young coyote had finally reached the end of his frayed, practically unraveled rope.

"I took M-Mom's maiden name," Sam mumbled, tears slipping past his palms and spiraled down his wrists; almost like tear-and-fur candy canes. "I'm…Samuel Feral now…"

"That's great, Sam," Judy said gently, her honey-voice lathering itself across the table. "That's fantastic. She'd be proud of you."

"No, she wouldn't," Sam immediately hissed through his teeth. "No, no. I screwed up, Judy, don't you see?"

"Sam, you had no idea that you dad would go so far as to take a drug and maul Jessica." These words poured out of Nick's mouth almost harshly. "This is not your fault. This was _never_ yourfault."

"But I could have realized he was going to do something like this! I could have _stopped it._ It would have been better to leave Jessica alone, so I could protect her…" He let out a short, choked moan. "Like how she broke up with me to protect me…I should have _done_ something, I…"

"Look," Nick interrupted, trying to imitate Judy's honey-voice. "I don't blame you for proposing to Jessica. You loved her, and your prey-hating dad was finally outta the picture. You and your sweetheart could move on with your lives. How could you have known he was going to track you down?"

"I didn't," Sam growled. "But once he found me and Jess? I did _nothing._ I kicked him out, yeah, but I did absolutely nothing to protect her! I should have broken up with her right then, because I should have known my dad…would come back and—and…"

"Sam, you cannot possibly be blaming yourself for what your dad did!" Judy exclaimed, folding her little muscular arms. "This wasn't your fault. There is no one to blame but Mr. Packard."

"Jessica would say the same thing, if she was here," the coyote replied. The tears had stopped, and now he just simmered in his self-hatred. "But she's not. Instead, she's in emergency surgery right now, and it's because I'm a blind dumbass." His head fall back into his paws, and a small, muffled whimper could be heard.

Nick was at a loss for words and apparently, so was Judy. They just gazed at each other, Nick hoping Judy would have something to say that would make Sam feel better; the longing in her massive purple eyes showed Nick that she hoped the same thing from him.

Sam heaved a great sigh, rubbing at his eyes furiously. "I'm…I'm sorry, guys…" he stammered, sniffing deeply. He chuckled, glancing up at Nick, and then to Judy. "What a reunion, huh? Must feel good getting greeted with a pity-party."

"Sam, you have no idea how happy Nick and I are to see you," Judy cooed, smiling softly.

Nick let out an amused chortle in an attempt to liven up the mood. "Carrots, especially. It's insane how many shirts I had to scrub snot out of from her crying about you into my stomach."

Sam let out a small, tired laugh, and Judy cocked an eyebrow at her partner pointedly. "Don't act like you weren't worried either!"

"Oh, I was. Just not snotting-all-over-my-partner worried."

"You're ridiculous."

Nick pulled a smirk onto his lips. "Ridiculous, _and_ dashingly handsome." He gave her a wink.

She rolled her eyes, but Nick knew she couldn't help the smile she wore. "Give me a break."

"I…I really missed you guys."

The statement was sudden and unexpected—at least, it was for Nick. When Sam said it, the fox took a moment to absorb the statement and then let himself smile; he reached across the table and patted the coyote on the shoulder. "We missed you too, kid."

"I'm just…so sorry," he mumbled, shaking his head. "The way I talked to you guys…especially to you, Judy, I…" he scoffed at himself. "A friend shouldn't do that. I know I hurt you both."

"Honestly, we're just relieved to see that you're okay," Judy blurted, and then her lips tightened. He obviously wasn't okay. His fiancée and father were both in the hospital in critical condition. "S…Sorry…"

"It's alright," Sam replied softly. He shifted his tired, red-rimmed eyes from the bunny to Nick, who felt a wave of sadness wash over him when the coyote's gaze fell on him. "Mom, she…I wish she was here, she'd…" he gave a small, choked laugh. "She would have found some way to make me feel better."

The death of Sam's mother, Christiana Feral, was the turning point for the young coyote's life. It had happened before Nick and Judy came into the picture, before meeting Jessica Whitehall; his mom had died of cancer, which is the reason why Sam wanted to become a biomedical scientist. With the death of Christiana came the loss of half the household earnings, so Sam had to keep a job throughout high school to help pay rent; then, when Mr. Packard became addicted to alcohol and the expense of college reared its ugly face, Sam had to get a second job. Nick really felt for him. There was so much weight on his shoulders, and he had experienced a massive amount of loss; the kid deserved happiness.

But if Sam's prey-hating, violent, grief-ridden father had any part in his life, he would never be happy. At least, that's what Nick believed.

For the month that Sam endured the abuse of his father, Nick would often offer his place for the young coyote to sleep; he, Sam, and Judy spent many nights talking and bonding over pizza or Chinese takeout. He would often wonder if that was what having a younger brother was like: teasing relentlessly and listening to dreams, offering fatherly support and blunt advice. He liked it, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was good at it; and he wasn't the only one who noticed. Judy would tell Nick that she was proud of how great he was with Sam.

And that's what Nick needed to be now. A big brother.

For one brief moment, Nick felt the walls of his emotional fortress lowering; he knew that it wouldn't last long, so he jumped at the opportunity.

"Kid, as someone who had loved ones and lost them, let me give you some advice." These words that Nick heard came from his mouth—he could feel the vibrations of his voice, he knew his lips were moving—but Nick, for some reason, didn't feel like he was the one speaking. "If your dad lives, then press charges against him and get his ass in jail. Then once he's in there, visit him. A lot. Make sure he remembers that he has a son and that he's a father."

Their wide-eyed, shocked stares burned him.

"And if Jessica lives, don't break up with her. Marry her, because if you don't, you may regret it for the rest of your life. I could…" Nick sniffed passively, pretending that it wasn't to cover up the fact that it felt like someone was hacking at his chest with a gardening hoe. "I could have developed a decent relationship with my mom if I had not decided the death of my dad was a good enough reason to run off and become the poster boy of bending the rules."

A soft, long, barely noticeable gasp came from the bunny sitting across from him. Nick didn't look at her, he couldn't.

Nick stared pointedly at Sam, who was listening tentatively with a gaping mouth. "Hang onto whatcha got, kid. Don't screw your life up just because you think all hope is lost—'cause the second you push them away, you push away a part of yourself, too."

Silence hung dubiously over the table. Nick felt his ears vigorously heat up, like someone had slammed them in the door of a hot oven; he purposely didn't look at his friends, who he knew were rendered speechless. He covered up his flustered face by shoving a piece of his now-cold ravioli into his mouth.

After a moment, the silence was too much for him; he jabbed his empty fork at Sam's plate and said through a mouthful of eggplant and pasta, "Eat your lasagna."

… … … … …

One of Jessica's nurses found the trio in the cafeteria around eight o'clock to report that the doe was out of surgery. Because Sam was Jessica's fiancé he could go into her room to see her, but Nick and Judy could not; so after ordering Sam to keep them up-to-date and to at least try to get some sleep, they parted ways. Nick and Judy were walking down the hallway back towards Mr. Packard's room in a tense silence; Judy's eyes kept pulling themselves up at her partner.

She tried her best to look at him sneakily. His green eyes were passive and almost grave, his posture unusually stick-straight. His shoulders pulled at the fabric of his uniform shirt—he had muscled up from his and Judy's daily workout—and his paws were sunk deep into the pockets of his dark pants. A thin line had replaced his mouth.

A great number of questions tugged at Judy's heart, and many of them she knew Nick wouldn't be okay with being asked; still, they burned her tongue, and more than one time she turned to him and almost let one spill out of her mouth. So when they entered Mr. Packard's hospital room again and saw Jack staring pensively at the coyote's unconscious form, Judy was relieved for the distraction.

As for Nick, however, he visibly tensed when he saw the hare. If he had glanced her way, he would have seen Judy give him a cocked eyebrow that told him to behave—but he didn't.

Judy gave up on subtly getting Nick's attention and stepped further into the room. "Any useful information from the doc, Jack?"

Jack leaned more toward Mr. Packard, his eyes squinting. "I got some questions answered, sure," he murmured quietly, "but too many new questions. Too, too many." His ear twitched. "Straightened things out with Mr. Feral?"

Judy nodded, and grew uncomfortable when she figured that he knew about their fiasco with Mr. Packard before he even walked into Bogo's office earlier that afternoon. "Y…yeah. He's…as fine as he could be, I suppose."

Jack grunted softly in reply, a simple _hm._ He was obviously distracted with Mr. Packard; Judy had no idea how the hare could possibly examine the coyote for any length of time. She could hardly even glance at the fiend.

Then, Nick asked the burning question. "Savage, why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Jack never took his eyes off the body.

Nick scoffed. "He's…barely alive, and you're checking him out like you're deciding what carrots would go best in your vegetarian Cornish pasties."

"I've never been one for Cornish pasties."

"You _know_ what I _mean_ , you—"

"What _are_ you looking for, Jack?" Judy interrupted before another one-sided argument ensued, sending a warning glare to Nick. The fox just rolled his eyes, crossing his arms grumpily and turning away.

"I'm not entirely sure, Miss Hopps," he answered, rubbing his chin and running his eyes over the coyote's blank face. "But I felt better looking at him for myself." After one slim moment, he sucked in a sharp breath and his eyebrows tensed. "Actually, Miss Hopps, I believe I require your assistance in a small matter. Won't take but a moment."

"Uh…sure. What do you need?"

The hare waved her over, and she complied. She could practically feel Nick's glare melting itself into the two as she walked to the opposite side of the hospital bed.

Jack pointed to the coyote's oxygen mask. "Hold this fast to his face while I turn his head."

Judy's stomach turned, for reasons he couldn't quite place. "Uh, okay…" She did as she was told, pressing one paw down on the clear cylindrical mask and tightly securing it to his muzzle. For a moment, she wondered if they should call a nurse in to do something like this, but then decided that it was unnecessary; if it was necessary, Jack would have done it by then.

With concentration, Jack wedged two paws carefully under Mr. Packard's head and slowly lifted; the coyote's head lolled towards Judy, and she dared to glance down at his face. It was sickening, to be honest; he was almost like a dead body, barely breathing and face sunken. She had glared at this face so many times, seen it in boiling anger more than anything; it was strange to see it almost…at peace.

If there was one thing that Judy had not grown accustomed to in her job, it was dealing with bodies—whether they be dead or an inch away from it. She felt her stomach roll around in her intestines and tried not to appear too unnerved.

Jack wouldn't have noticed the expression on her face anyway; he was too busy staring with narrowed eyes at something on Mr. Packard's neck. Whatever it was, Judy couldn't see it from her angle. "Nick," he called back to the fox, "please get the disposable camera from the pocket of my coat. It's laying on the table."

Nick grunted, but did as he was asked. He returned with the camera pinched between two fingers. "I suppose I'm on picture-taking duty, Crumpets?"

"Yes."

"What am I taking a picture of?"

Judy winced as Jack pushed Mr. Packard's head up further. "Do you see the discoloration of the skin underneath his fur? Right…here?"

Nick peered where Jack was apparently talking about, and shrugged. "Yeah. Birthmark or something?"

Jack looked at him exasperatedly. "The marks are black."

"Okay, so, a tattoo," the fox snapped back; Judy would have nagged at him for his behavior if she wasn't too buy wishing she could get as far away from Mr. Packard as possible.

Jack nodded in agreement, looking back down at the coyote's neck. "That's what I'm thinking."

"Well, what do the marks look like?" Judy asked, focusing on the faces of her coworkers instead of the washed-out face of Sam's comatose father. "Do they form a picture of something?"

Jack twisted his mouth in reply, and gestured toward the area in question with his head. "Nick, old chap, would you part the fur so we can get a better look?"

"Why don't _you_ do it, 'old chap'?"

"I'm kind of holding the bloke's massive head," Jack answered, chuckling. "Trust me, if I had a free arm, I wouldn't ask. But I don't, so do you mind?"

Nick glared at him, his upper lip twitching. "I'm gloving my paw first."

"Fair enough."

Nick turned to snap on a latex glove begrudgingly; while he did, Judy sent Jack a massive apologetic look. Jack noticed, and shrugged lightly in reply as if to say "it's fine"; Judy was very glad that the hare didn't take Nick's attitude too seriously. It would have made things much harder than they already were.

Nick turned back around and flicked his eyes up toward Judy, and then back at Jack; then he glared down at the camera in his ungloved paw as if it just murdered his family.

Judy winced; he noticed the exchange of looks between the two rabbits. _Sensitive fox._

She couldn't see exactly what Nick was doing from her angle, but Jack did inch over to give Nick room. After she assumed he parted the fur, she heard two or three clicks of the camera; she also saw Jack's eyes narrow into small slits as the fox took the photos.

"D…S," Jack mumbled, and then glanced up at the bunny across the bed with wide, alerted eyes. "D.S.—is that of any significance to him? Initials of his deceased wife, perhaps?"

Judy blinked, and shook her head as confusion took hold on her throat. She tried to think of anything; what sports teams he liked, relatives, job history. "No, nothing like that…"

"Strange." Jack glanced over to the simmering fox beside him. "Do you have the pictures, Nick?"

"Yes," Nick said forcefully, crossing his arms. "And don't call me Nick. I prefer Officer Wilde."

Jack chuckled with amusement as he and Judy carefully lowered Mr. Packard's skull back onto the pillow. "To be fair, you _did_ tell me to call you Nick."

Nick stiffened and Judy had to hold back a laugh with one paw; this was true, he did. Jack was right. The points for the hare were piling up.

Jack straightened his tie, and nodded respectfully at the fox. "But, if you prefer it, Officer Wilde it will be."

Nick scoffed, flicked off his latex glove and passively tossed it in a trash can. "I'm going to go get a coffee," he said abruptly, and turned to leave with an angry swish of his tail. When he got to the doorway, he paused, one paw rested on his doorframe. He turned to focus his green eyes on Judy.

"You coming, Carrots?"

Judy tried to swallow the awkward lump in her throat and glanced from Nick to Jack, who was observing silently and patiently.

"I…think I'll stay here, Nick," she answered quietly. "I want to briefly discuss something with Jack."

Nick looked crestfallen for the smallest second; and then he put up his walls. His face turned stony again, and he shrugged. "Whatever. Take your time." And with that, he left.

Judy heaved a great sigh, and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. What was getting into him? She adored Nick, but he was too complicated for words.

"I'm not offended by his behavior, if that's what you're worried about."

Judy glanced up at the owner of the voice; Jack was already smiling at her, his blue-grey eyes painted with kindness. He had his paws stuck inside his slack pockets, suitcoat unbuttoned, ears in an amiable position.

His sincerity put her at ease, she had to admit.

She shook her head, scoffing softly. "I don't know what is up with that fox. I really am sorry."

"No need to apologize," he shrugged. "As long as his blatant dislike for me doesn't interfere with the quality of our performance, we'll be right as rain."

"I don't even know _why_ he dislikes you. You're very nice, and I think he would get along well with you if he gave it a chance," Judy mentioned, circling the bed and trying not to look at the body that laid in it.

"Well, Miss Hopps," he replied, still smiling, "if I was worried about making friends, I would not have entered this…line of employment."

"Oh, but that's so sad!" she exclaimed. "Having friends is important, I think."

"I suppose I do have friends. Coworkers." He shrugged again, rubbing at his neck. "But I'm more of an introverted hare, honestly. Having many friends is not something of major concern; I mean, I _do_ have quite a few mob bosses out for my head." He chuckled lightly, the sound almost muffled.

Judy gave him a wide smile and offered him a shrug of her own. "I can be your friend, you know."

"Miss Hopps, you've known me for a little over…" He checked his watch. "…three and a half hours."

"So?"

Jack let out a genuine laugh; his smile was pleasant. It kind of reminded Judy of Nick, actually. Nick's face was constantly plastered with a smirk, so when he smiled sincerely it made him look much happier, handsomer. It was the same concept with Agent Savage. He always seemed so serious and immersed all the time; even when he smiled, it was always simply polite or maybe a smirk. But now that Jack was smiling— _really_ smiling—it left Judy with a satisfied, warm feeling.

"Was there something else you wanted to discuss with me, Miss Hopps?" he chuckled, folding his arms and cocking one intense brow. His smile was still genuine.

"Oh, yes. Right." She placed her paws on her hips, meaning to look no-nonsense but probably accomplishing only looking cute. "You looked up me and Nick before you came today, correct?"

Jack nodded once. "Yes."

"And you said you knew about his tax evasion stuff."

"Yes."

"Then…" Judy swallowed, the lump in her throat growing. "Then do you know about my money troubles? From paying for the Academy?"

Jack's smile faltered a bit. "I do."

Judy suddenly felt a bit angry, a feeling that had stark contrast to the warmth she had felt just minutes before. She narrowed her eyes at the hare, clenching her teeth. "So, you just offered the ten grand for the mission because I had money problems? Were you _bribing_ me?"

"No, Miss Hopps," Jack immediately answered. His smile was gone now, and his eyes were steely and intense. "I wasn't. If this mission is successful, then you are worthy of the money."

"Is ten thousand dollars each what 'skilled informants' usually get paid?"

"I don't see why you're complaining," the hare replied. "Your money troubles would be solved, and a great portion of Officer Wilde's tax evasion debts would be paid off." Jack suddenly chuckled-his smile was only polite this time. "It's no bribe."

"Then what is it?" Judy snapped. She liked Jack, sure, but she was not about to be coerced into doing anything. She was an independent rabbit—she would be fine without Jack's money. "My debt is only six thousand, and instead you offer me ten thousand. Why?"

"It's a gift," Jack replied plainly. "A gift from one friend…" The genuine smile. "…to another."

Judy was at a loss for words. She didn't know whether to be thankful or offended at the hare.

"Just because of the line of work I am in, Miss Hopps, doesn't mean I am heartless." Jack looked at her pointedly; the smile didn't waver. "I want to make the world a better place, just like you."

"By giving me and Nick ten thousand dollars? We don't need charity."

"Miss Hopps, I am aware that if you didn't pay off your loan in time, you would not be able to be a police officer anymore." He jutted his head at the door. "And without Officer Wilde paying off his tax debts, he could go to jail. If giving you both money meant keeping two of Zootopia's best officers patrolling the streets, I would say that that is very much worth the expense." He smiled again. "I realize you are a strong-willed mammal, and I respect that, but there's no harm in accepting an act of kindness."

Judy thought about his statement for a moment. He was right; she needed to look past her pride. She honestly couldn't think of a better way to get the money in time. The appearance of Jack was a stroke of good fortune, she had to admit; not only did it give her time away from the paperwork desk and parking meters, it would help her keep being a cop and pull Nick from his debt. It was definitely very kind of the hare to do.

She sighed, and forced a small smile onto her face. "You're right…I'm sorry, Jack." She rubbed her arms self-consciously. "Thank you. You didn't have to, y'know."

"No need to be sorry," Jack replied, shrugging. "I understand. I would be wary of me, too."

"I just…I constantly feel like I need to prove myself," she admitted, scratching an itch on her cheek awkwardly. "Because I'm a bunny."

Jack nodded, giving a breathy chuckle. "Believe me," he raised his eyebrows, "I know how you feel. My superiors were not exactly pleased when I made it into the organization."

"But you did!" she said, relieved that someone else had experienced her pain. "And now you're the best!"

"And so are you, Miss Hopps," he pointed out, his eyes somehow friendly and steely at the same time. "Chief Bogo said so himself."

She suddenly felt her heart soar to the ceiling. "R-Really?" she squealed; she couldn't help the large grin that had slapped itself onto her face.

"Really." Jack winked at her. "Don't tell him I told you that."

… … … … …

Nick was relentless with the amount of creamer he poured into his coffee.

God, that…that pretentious _douchebag!_ He was an irritatingly smart hare, he _knew_ that he was grating on Nick's nerves and yet he continued to be insanely maddening. Nick loathed the fact that Jack had the upper hand in their little spats, since he himself was usually the one who did; he loathed even more that Jack seemed to be okay with Nick. Maybe even like him a little bit!

That wasn't how it worked. He was supposed to dislike Nick back, fight for being the "alpha male" or whatever. The worst part was, Jack didn't even seem to care about that. What it did seem like was that Jack was fully focused on the mission, and expected that Nick was too.

Nick grunted angrily as he sucked down some coffee, turning back toward the hall that led to Mr. Packard's room and beginning his walk back. And Judy! She seemed to like Jack; they got along fairly well. Nick was hurt when she didn't go with him to get coffee—it wasn't something he should be upset about, though. It wasn't like she was already better friends with Jack than she was with Nick, right? They had only known the guy since five o'clock.

On another frustrating note, the way he had opened up earlier to give Sam advice was eating away at him. He was embarrassed, almost; he knew that eventually, Judy would ask about his mother, since he had mentioned her. She had asked before, especially around his graduation from the Academy, but Nick always blew off her questions; now that he revealed at least some small information about the relationship between his mother and himself, he knew that Judy would be on his case about it soon enough.

Not that he hadn't been thinking about his mother lately. Frank Swinatra made sure of that.

Then he thought about Judy, and worry wrenched its way into his chest as he neared the door of Mr. Packard's hospital room. Nick had deduced what was bothering his partner so badly the past couple of days: she had money problems. He didn't know what they were specifically, but it made sense—her looking for a second job, jumping at the mission when an offer of a large cash reward was mentioned. He had not yet had time to talk to her about it due to the craziness with Mr. Packard and Sam, but as soon as the two were alone, he would make sure to.

He approached the door and was about to place his paw on the handle, when he heard the voices of the two rabbits. There was Judy's voice, edged, and Jack's voice, disturbingly kind. It sounded like Judy was lecturing the hare, which put a smile on Nick's face; he decided to listen in. It was satisfying to know that Jack deserved to be nagged by Judy too.

But then, he heard Judy sigh. "Thank you. You didn't have to," said her muffled voice.

"No need to be sorry. I would be wary of me, too," was Jack's reply, his voice deep and irritatingly British.

"I just…constantly feel like I need to prove myself. Because I'm a bunny."

Nick felt his heart jolt. She was…opening up to him? Nick told himself to calm down. She _was_ a Jumbotron, after all.

A snicker. "Believe me, I know how you feel. My superiors were not exactly pleased when I made it into the organization."

He rolled his eyes. _This is making me sick._ There were a few more words exchanged between the two, said in friendly voices that grated Nick's nerves with each candy-coated syllable. He chugged at his coffee while he waited for the stupidity to end.

"This mission was obviously a stroke of good luck for me," Judy's voice said. Nick's ears pricked. "The six thousand dollars I owe the bank for attending the Academy would have been hard to save up all by myself."

Thorns dragged across Nick's chest.

"Well, now you have a solution, Miss Hopps."

Nick's paw clenched around his coffee cup. What the _heck?!_ She told that…that stuck-up, rich _bunny_ about her money troubles before she told her best friend?! And she even refused to tell him, too, insisting she needed to assess the situation first. Well, she obviously assessed it—with a freakin' spy she had only known for a couple of hours.

"Have you told Officer Wilde yet?"

Jack's words caught Nick's attention, and he stared at the door as he waited for Judy's reply.

There was a slight shuffle. "No…not yet." A sniff. "I knew that if I did tell him, he would probably offer me money that he couldn't afford to give away. He would insist; I don't want that. I want him to get out of this tax evasion hole he dug for himself."

Nick tried to hold back a scoff. _Carrots, I'm your best friend. Best friends tell each other things. They don't go telling spies their darkest secrets._

"Well, it probably would be best if you told him, since you have a way of paying it off now."

For once, Nick was glad Jack had opened his mouth; that didn't make him any less angry and the two rabbits, however.

"Yeah, you're right," Judy's voice squeaked; then, she chuckled. "Are you sure you don't mind Nick calling you 'Crumpets' and 'Sir Crumpet' and all of that? I can understand if you don't like it."

Jack gave a light, muffled laugh that rattled Nick's nerves. "Officer Wilde is obviously well-read in British cuisine and customs and the like," the hare replied, "but what he obviously doesn't know is the meaning of calling someone 'Crumpet' in Britain."

Nick blinked.

"Oh? What does it mean?"

Jack laughed again, a bit louder this time. "If you call someone 'Crumpet', then it usually means you find them sexually attractive."

Nick's stomach dropped to the floor and his heart slammed into his brain. He suddenly felt completely and utterly stupid; the low growl that rose to his mouth came on its own accord. A mixture of horror, embarrassment, and anger boiled in his belly, and he felt the sudden urge to just leave without letting Judy know where he went.

But Judy gave a series of loud, ringing guffaws that made Nick feel ten times more humiliated—and betrayed. "Oh, goodness. That's hilarious!"

"Don't tell him, though. I'm sure he doesn't actually find me sexually attractive."

"I won't tell him if you won't!"

They intended on keeping him in the _dark?_ Letting him continue to embarrass himself?!

Suddenly, muffled steps started to near themselves toward the door. "I better take my leave, discuss things with the Chief," Jack had said. When Nick realized how much closer his voice was getting, he backed up a few steps and waited with his coffee clenched in one paw.

"Okay," Judy replied, her voice growing less muffled as someone turned the knob on the door and opened it, swinging it inward. The two rabbits revealed themselves, smiling amiably and disgustingly at each other. "I'll wait for—" A set of wide violet eyes fell on the fox waiting for them. "Nick! Did you get your coffee?"

Nick didn't know what to say at first. He just glared at them; he couldn't _make_ himself say anything. Should he tell them he heard what they were talking about? He almost did, but then decided otherwise and went with the simple reply of, "Yeah."

Judy blinked, immediately realizing his mood. Her ears fell behind her head. "Uh…good."

There was an awkward few seconds of silence, Nick glowering at the two rabbits standing in the doorway before Jack cleared his throat and inched past the fox.

"Don't forget," the hare said, lowering his ears and pressing his trilby hat on his head; he ran a finger across the brim swiftly. "Three days from now. Three o'clock."

Nick's anger soared. Jack was acting like _nothing happened._ What a freakin' joke.

The hare flung his coat over his shoulder, and nodded respectfully at them. "Farewell." And with that, he stuck his paw in his pocket and walked toward the elevators, shoulders set casually and gait refined.

When the elevator doors closed, Nick mumbled something about calling a cab to get them home and immediately got himself away from the bunny. He knew she probably was worried and scared that he had heard their conversation, and he was okay with that. Let her be upset for a while! She deserved it, after telling a spy about her troubles before telling her best friend.

Nick contacted the cab company, finished his call and shoved his phone back into his pocket; he decided that at some point in the near future, he would definitely have to give _Miss Hopps_ a piece of his mind.

… … … … …

 **So, there ya go.**

 **Again, I have no idea what the heck I'm doing with all the medical stuff. I tried my best and did a ton of research, but I don't know how legitimate it is.**

 **And drama, drama, drama! Sam is going through a tough time right now, so it's a little difficult to show his usual character…I've grown quite attached to him, though. He's a lovely, nerdy little cinnamon roll.**

 **By the way, Dr. Whistlers' species, a dhole, is a canine species native to parts of Asia. Look them up, they're pretty cool animals. (:**

 **Review! I want to know how you guys are liking it. It keeps me pumped.**


	5. A Heart On Your Sleeve

**Nothing to say as of now, other than the fact that this is, as far as the plot goes, a slow chapter. But what happens in it is very important…I hope it's not boring!**

 **Enjoy.**

… … … … …

 **Chapter Five: Your Heart on Your Sleeve**

The taxi ride back to Judy's apartment was, needless to say, awkward—at least, it was for Nick.

Nick had called the cab because he didn't want to have to walk all the way to the subway station in uncomfortable silence, but the subway seemed like the better option in hindsight. With all the other mammals surrounding them in a cramped train or on the busy sidewalk, it would have been easy to avoid a sensitive conversation—but in the back of the cab with only their horse driver as witness, he could already hear the questions that wriggled on the tip of Judy's tongue.

But, to his surprise, she never said anything. She had called the Chief at one point, informing him that they were heading home for the night; but other than that, she simply stared at the folded paws in her lap or out at passing cars and buses. With the exception of a few small sighs, she stayed completely silent.

So now, Nick was watching the lazy lights of the city dance drowsily past, impatiently waiting for Judy to pipe up with an apology or an awkward conversation-starter.

Nick could usually depend on Judy to get these discussions rolling, but tonight, it didn't look like it was going to happen. This was extremely frustrating to the fox, and only made his anger at her flare. He wanted her to say something oh-so-badly, because that's how it usually worked—the second that Judy sensed any sort of uneasiness or conflict, she immediately dove headfirst to assess the situation without even thinking twice. She advertised the importance of communication way too much. Not that Nick didn't agree, but Judy had a much easier time with speaking her feelings; he, however, did not.

But for some reason, Judy said nothing.

How utterly convenient. Now, of all moments, she decided to clamp her chatterbox mouth shut. Well, he wouldn't say anything either, then. If she knew he overheard the conversation, then she must know he was angry and what he was angry about; why should _he_ have to be the one to bring it up? He shouldn't. He shouldn't have to say anything.

Nick couldn't help but glance over to the bunny sitting two seats over—she was gazing out the window, just like he was, but she was looking incredibly pensive. She didn't look sad or hurt like he expected, only maybe _slightly_ worried and a little tired.

The fox rolled his eyes, and slumped his chin into his paw. _Ugh, Dumb bunnies, dumb bunnies. Oblivious bunnies._ He suppressed an irritated grunt.

Nick had only had enough money on him to get them both to Judy's apartment, so he planned on walking to the bus stop when the cab dropped them off. Once they arrived and Nick gave the driver the fee and a fair tip, they both slipped out of the car and the horse tipped his hat to them as he drove off.

Then they stood silent on the wet pavement. Nick felt the cool, forgiving night air brush its fingers through his fur; it felt good against his hot, angry ears. When he peered over at Judy, he found her not looking at him but instead at her apartment—like she expected all several hundred of her brothers and sisters to pop out of the exit door all at once.

And then she must have felt his eyes, because almost immediately after he had looked at her, purple irises accented with a glaze of light flicked back toward him.

Nick was about to simply nod goodbye, turn on his heels and head home to let himself cool down—but he didn't get an opportunity. As soon as he flinched, Judy pulled her keys out of her pocket and took a step toward him, a serious glint flashing across her eyes. "I have blueberry smoothies."

Nick cocked an eyebrow at her. A peace offering? _It's not that easy, Carrots._

He glanced at his watch. "It's almost nine-thirty."

Judy raised her eyebrows expectantly at him, as if she expected him to follow up that comment with elaboration.

"It's late, we have work tomorrow."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, thrusting her hip out to the side as she crossed her arms. "Like that's ever stopped us before. And since when do you care if we have work tomorrow or not?" Judy could be very sassy—Nick hated that he thought it was absolutely adorable, especially when he was still frustrated with her.

Nick shrugged. "Well, it's been a long day."

"We've had _plenty_ of long days, and we still hung out after those."

"Carrots, the last time I checked, we've never had—" he held up one finger, "Gazelle flounce into the ZPD."

Judy blinked rapidly, throwing out her paws in exaggerated exasperation. "She visits places all the time! She likes to talk to her fans!"

"I'm sure she tosses eight grand at them too, then." He was still holding up one finger.

"Uh, probably…?"

Nick ignored her answer and continued. "We've also never become _skilled informants_ before." He didn't hesitate to push a haughty British accent into the two words, giving overstating air quotes and puffing his chest.

"You were a skilled informant for me, remember?" Judy paused for a moment; her brow wrinkled in thought. "Actually, no. You were just an informant. Not skilled." She chuckled sheepishly, as if embarrassed for her mistake. "Then never mind, you're right about that, please continue."

Nick normally would have quipped back, but his feelings were too jumbled for that; he just blinked as if the comment didn't faze him. "And we never regularly reunite with Sam…except—uh oh!—now he's _engaged_ and _moved out_ …" his voice turned to a low, serious mutter, "…and his abusive dad and brand-new fiancée are both in the hospital on the _brink_ of _death."_

Judy's face fell, as he had expected. They both stayed silent for a moment, absorbing the monstrosity that was their day; well, Nick assumed Judy was. He was honestly just waiting for a reaction from her, for her to bring up what he had overheard, to say she was sorry.

Then her eyes turned wide, buttery, hopeful. She peered up at him through her eyelashes, and Nick was astounded that he could still see purple through them. "The blueberry smoothies aren't going to drink themselves, Nick," she murmured.

"I'm tired."

"Please?" She started doing that _thing,_ where she looks forlornly at the ground and presses her paws to her chest, looking so sad and hurt without even meaning to. "I…I want to talk." Her eyes raised upward to his face as she spoke, and Nick got angry at the simple fact that she knew how to tug on his heartstrings.

"About what?" Nick suddenly heard himself snap.

"A…About today. About Sam, about Jack."

"There's nothing that needs to be said."

Judy's brows furrowed slightly. "And what do you mean by that?"

Nick shrugged, trying to reclaim his hold on nonchalance. "Nothing, really. I just means that there's nothing going on."

"Lies! Horrendous, nasty foxy lies! " Judy exclaimed, poking a finger into the sky authoritatively. "Lies that smell of blueberries and overly-sweetened coffee and dryer sheets and too much Chinese takeout and so many tacky button-ups, _oh,_ the stinky foxy lies!" She waved a hand to her forehead in pretend anguish, almost like she was in a soap opera and about to swoon and dramatically faint.

Nick let himself give a small chuckle at her mockery of his statement the night before. "Oh, you're so _funny_ , Carrots. You should be a stand-up comedian, really. I'm sure everyone just loves carrot knock-knock jokes."

"My carrot knock-knock jokes are _killer,_ Slick."

"Yeah, to IQ levels and brain cells, maybe."

"Wait, let's not get off topic," she insisted, shaking her head. "Why won't you come up, Nick? You're usually down for hanging out after work."

"I'm just…" he thought about spilling his feelings for a moment, but his wall shoved itself upwards and his mask glued itself firmly on his face. So he decided otherwise. "I'm just tired, I want sleep."

"You're lying."

For one moment, just _one,_ he let his mask slip. "You know, Carrots, I know what you're trying to do. Not everything can be fixed with blueberry smoothies and sugarcoated apologies." He immediately regretted it.

Judy's eyes, all at once, widened and then narrowed into angry slits. She crossed her arms, an extremely defensive position. _"Apologies?"_ she tested, her ears standing at attention; Nick half-expected them to flash him salutes. "Who said I needed to apologize?"

Nick just shook his head, and waved his paw dismissively at her. "Forget it." He stuck his paws in his pockets, and started to turn away. "I'm going home, see you at work."

He had taken a grand total of two steps before her powerful words tugged him to a halt. "Ohhhh, no you don't, Nicholas Piberius Wilde!" her voice boomed; it was entirely too loud for a bunny, entirely too loud. He could hear her impatient foot slap against the wet sidewalk. "You will _not_ say something like that to me and then just _leave!_ Turn your tail back around right now."

He gave a short snicker, one not accompanied with a smirk. "And if I don't?"

"There will be more than one thing I'm gonna be 'apologizing' for."

He didn't let himself move a single muscle; instead, he just stared down the emptying street, letting himself boil over her words.

She gave her stupidly adorable huff. "Just turn back around, Nick. We don't have to go upstairs if you don't want to."

A zebra passed by, pace quickening once he sensed the intensity wavering between the fox and the bunny.

Nick abruptly faced toward Judy once again, and dropped back onto his heels. Once there, he held out his paws and raised his eyebrows. _I'm here, now what?_

"Blueberry smoothies or not, fox?" she pressed, her voice impatient.

"No. I don't want one."

"Don't want to go inside, either? Or are you too angry for that, too?"

"No offense, Carrots, but stuffy shoebox of an apartment isn't exactly ideal for a cool-down."

Judy rolled her eyes. "And I suppose this is the part when I ask you what you're angry about?"

"No, this is the part when you _figure out_ what I'm angry about, because you aren't stupid," Nick retorted, and went to loosen his tie. This wasn't good, oh no, it wasn't good a-tall. He needed to go, he needed to _leave,_ before he got too angry to hold onto his mask again.

But then Judy took a few steps toward him; she was so short, but in that moment, Nick thought she could have never looked taller. She had quite the presence, he'd give her that. "It's because you heard the crumpet thing, isn't it?" she asked, her voice a tad gentler. "Because I guess I can understand you being a little irritated, but Nick, I can tell you're really upset. Even if you do try to hide it. Was it the crumpet thing?"

"That did grind my gears a bit, but no," he answered, "that's not it."

"Then what is?"

Nick paused for a moment; the words he wanted to say were burning and thrashing at his insides, pressing against his tongue like hot bile. But he knew he wouldn't get anywhere with Judy if he threw underhanded comments at her, so he decided to try to think about what he said before he let anything spill out of his mouth.

"I was there," he began carefully, "for most of the conversation."

Judy nodded affirmingly. "Okay, since when?"

"You were telling him you needed to prove yourself because you were a bunny, or something equally Officer Hopps-ish."

"I can't tell if that's an insult or a compliment."

Nick ignored that comment. "I figured out that you had money problems beforehand, and I was going to talk to you about it."

Judy wilted a little bit, and her eyes lowered to the pavement. "Oh…" A panther slinked by, sidestepping the bunny without a second glance. Then, the rabbit gave a small chuckle. "I was about to ask how you figured it out, but that would be a stupid question."

"Yeah, it was pretty obvious, but that's not the point." Nick focused his eyes on her, zeroed in on her face; she had varied emotions striped across it, like anger and fear and uneasiness. "The point is that you didn't want to tell me about the six thousand dollars you owe the bank." He gave an alarmed _ha!_ "Six _thousand,_ Fluff. _"_

"But, Nick," she started to argue, "It's really not that big of a de—"

"It is when it means your job!" Nick cut her off; he had to make sure the growl that formed at the base of his throat didn't emerge along with his words. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you couldn't be in the ZPD—or in _Zootopia,_ for that matter—unless you pay it off."

Her ears fell. "Nick…"

"And you even insisted on not telling me because you were going to 'assess' it first, or whatever," Nick murmured. "And I would have let you pay be back…"

Judy let out a small, exasperated huff. "You have your own money troubles! I couldn't ask that of you. Besides, I didn't know what I was going to need to do, I only have a month to get it together."

Shock smacked him in the gut like he just took a belly flop into Mr. Big's ice vat. "A _month?"_ he gawked, sucking in a gasp. "You only have a month to pay it off?!"

Judy winced; she obviously recognized too late that she shouldn't have told him that. "Y…Yeah…A month." The gave a few blinks, and then a hopeful, toothy grin exploded on her face. "But…But now I have a solution, Nick! The mission! We save Zootopia before the deadline, and I get the money."

Nick folded his arms, and leaned over her; she didn't seem any smaller. "Yeah? And what happens if we _don't_ save Zootopia, hmm?"

She visibly wilted at the comment; no, more like _dissolved._ It occurred for a mere few seconds before she strengthened up again, almost like a tree spreading its limbs and securing its roots. Determination pushed her ears back up again. "We…We won't fail," she answered, her voice small but as sharp as blades.

Nick shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. "You know, it's funny, because this?" He pointed at the ground, as if it represented their current situation. "This is not even what I'm upset about. I mean, hiding it from me? Okay, you wanna keep things on the down-low, I get it," he rambled. "The crumpet thing is horrifyingly humiliating, to say the least, but I can get over it." Exasperation tugged at his paws. "Even you assessing it for a while is fine, I suppose! You're dealing with it in your own way."

Judy watched him rant with eyebrows furrowed and jaw slightly agape; it was an awkward mix of horror and amazement, because it wasn't often when Nick let down his walls twice in one day.

"But… _really_ , Carrots?" he pressed, dropping his paws to slap at his sides in defeat. "You…you told the British bunny spy that we knew for only a couple hours…" he lifted a paw to touch his chest with the tips of his claws. "…before you told _me?"_

Nick did not get the reaction he was expecting. Judy began to shake her head furiously, holding up her paws in immediate defense; her gaping mouth snapped shut into a thin line. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" she cried, confusion warping her face and tensing her shoulders. "Who said that I told Jack?"

"Don't try to cover it up, Fluff. I heard you talking to him about it."

"Nick," Judy breathed—then she chuckled, to Nick's horror. "He already knew about my money problems, I didn't tell him anything."

A flurry of emotions whirled through Nick, including—but not limited to—guilt, relief, and shame. "What?"

She gave a small _tsk._ "Nick, he looked you up. He knew about your tax evasion crap before he even strutted into the station today." She crossed her little arms and gave him her _look_ , accompanied with a cocked eyebrow and thrusted hip, that always seemed to accomplish making him feel at least a little bit stupid. "You obviously read very deeply into the situation and thought about this fervently…but did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, he looked _me_ up too?"

 _No, I didn't. And now I wish I did. Ugh, so stupid!_

Nick swallowed, and tried to ignore the way that guilt carved at his stomach with a single white-hot blade. "So…you _didn't_ tell him before you told me?"

"No, dumb fox. No, I didn't."

Nick began to mentally prepare himself for a lecture, heaving his fortress walls back up with a practiced strength. He expected the bunny to be angry with him, that she was hurt that he didn't trust her to trust him, that he needed to top assuming things and be mindful that his reasons for his hurt were lined with hypocrisy…

…But when Nick let his eyes meet hers, he was surprised to discover that her face did not harbor an accusatory expression. Instead, it was laced with a soft smile and forgiving eyes, the tiny pull of her cheeks telling him she not only understood why he was upset, but also that she didn't blame him for it. Her arms were still folded, her hip was still cocked, but now it was as if she knew what he was feeling—and that it was _okay._

He tugged at his tie again, eager to give himself a distraction. "Uh.."

"Are you _sure_ you don't want those blueberry smoothies?"

… … … … …

Judy didn't actually have the smoothies made—but she did have blueberries, bananas, and yogurt, however, and was completely prepared to make some smoothies for her partner. So while Nick sat awkwardly on her bed, taking a sudden massive interest in her grimy wooden floor, Judy was busy preparing the ingredients to dump into the tiny blender she kept on top of her minifridge.

Judy wasn't mad. She was sad, but more surprised than anything; Nick had opened up twice in one day, and it was quite the record. That was probably the biggest thing that concerned her.

She faced away from the fox as she chopped a banana on a cutting board next to the blender, carefully watching each stroke of the knife. "So…" she started, carefully turning an ear toward the fox.

A deep grunt emanated from behind her. "So."

"You want half a banana, or a whole?"

"Doesn't matter."

So Judy shrugged, and slid all of the banana slices into the blender; she began to mix the separated yogurt, but was stopped by a deep, heaving sigh.

"Carrots, I…I'm sorry I…doubted you." His voice was low, almost undetectable—like he was struggling to push the words out of his mouth. "And I assumed things. That…wasn't right."

Judy calmly placed the yogurt container on top of the minifridge, and chuckled through a toothy smile she knew Nick couldn't see. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"Yes I do," he answered. "I really do. I was being narcissistic and hypocritical."

Judy scooped a big glob of yogurt into the blender, and glanced back at the fox to smirk at him. He had loosened his tie considerably, slumping with elbows on knees, peering guiltily up at her with troubled green eyes; the lights from the city poured through her window and made his russet fur glow. " _You_ , actually admitting that you were wrong?" she jeered, snickering snidely at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Nick?"

"Oh, don't worry, I wouldn't dare do anything bad to him. He's far too devilishly handsome and charming; it would be an atrocity to harm such a perfect specimen of fox."

Judy raised her eyebrows. "You and I are obviously not talking about the same guy. _My_ Nick is a complete dork who wears garish Pawaiian shirts and secretly loves historical romances; he's quite the dumb fox, truth be told."

"Har, har," he drawled back, a smile tugging at his lips; then it slowly melted into a frown. "But seriously, I…don't know why I got so mad."

Judy faced back towards her smoothie-making. "I do." She proceeded to dump a cartonful of blueberries into the blender.

"You do." His voice sounded intrigued.

"Yeah, I do," she answered, folded down her ears behind her head, and proceeded to turn on the blender.

She gave a small snicker when she heard Nick's yelp of disdain after she flipped the switch on the machine. The sound was sudden, loud, and grinding, and seemed to almost echo off the tiny walls in her apartment; Judy firmly pressed her ears down against her head to shield her sensitive hearing.

When the purple concoction was thoroughly mixed, she turned off the blender and thus ended the horrifying noise. Nick immediately let out a giant sigh of relief from behind her, and then a scoff. "A little warning might be nice, you know!" he complained.

Just as Judy turned back around to give him a snide comment, there was a muffled bang on the wall beside her bed, where Nick still sat. _"Yeah, bunny!"_ the muffled yell of who Judy recognized to be Pronk carped. _"It's almost ten, I'm tryin' to sleep!"_

Nick looked alarmed at the sudden interruption at first, and then settled once he realized the source. He looked tiredly over at Judy as if to say, _Here we go again._ She rolled her eyes in agreement.

 _"Shut up, Pronk, that fox is tryin' to apologize to her! Didn't you hear what he said? He was bein' a hypocrite or something!"_

 _"Don't tell me to shut up, Bucky, tell her! I wasn't the one runnin' a blender in the middle of the night!"_

 _"Oh, just shut up!"_

 _"You shut up!"_

Nick flinched to the side as Judy sent a spoon sailing into the wall with a thud that echoed almost as much as the blender did. "How about you _both_ shut up and _leave us alone_ , for cheese's sake?!"

There was only a split second of silence before the mumbles of consent cold be heard from their apartment, agreements to Judy's demand tumbling through the wall. _"Uh, yeah, sure, Judes… Don't know why you didn't just say so…"_ and _"Don't turn on that satanic blender again, and we won't say another word…"_ were included in their consent.

"Ugh! Thank goodness," Judy grumbled under her breath, grabbing two plastic cups from a little bin on her desk and setting them down a little too forcefully. "I swear, sometimes, those two are worse than living with all of my siblings."

"That's a bit hard to believe," Nick replied, an amused smile stretched across his muzzle. "Then again, I imagine your walls back in Bunnyburrow aren't essentially sheets of paper."

"No," Judy snickered as she poured the blueberry smoothie mixture into the two cups. "No, they are not." She placed the pitcher back on its perch on the blender base, and in a few quick strides she plopped down onto the bed next to Nick with the cups in paw.

She held one out to him. "Here."

"Thanks." He took it, and looked pensively down into the cup. He was silent for a moment.

Judy sipped her own, and the pleasant and oh-so-familiar blueberry sweetness exploded across her tongue. "Not gonna drink it?" She watched Nick curiously.

The fox blinked a few times, his green eyes flicking from his smoothie to her, and then back to his smoothie. "Yeah, I am." He took a small gulp and gave a tiny hum of pleasure. "Mmm."

"You're welcome."

Air puffed his lips outward, making him look quite comical for a few seconds. "You still haven't told me why you think I got so mad, Carrots."

Judy shrugged. "It's simple, really. I was thinking about it on the stair climb up here," she replied, and smirked. "I've realized that I've gotten pretty good at reading others, and I think I have you to thank for that."

"Uh, sure? Glad I can be of assistance."

"Anyway," she continued, "I think the reason you got so mad is because you just don't like Jack."

Nick cocked an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's obvious you have a problem with the guy. I feel like if I had the same conversation but with someone else—like Clawhauser, for instance—then you wouldn't have been so mad."

"You make it seem like I'm shallow or something."

Judy felt her breath hitch. "Oh, no!" she quickly amended, "I didn't mean it like that. You just don't trust him, is all, which is understandable; I'm sure when you thought I confided in Jack, you were probably instinctively being protective of me. You didn't want me to make myself vulnerable to someone who is potentially untrustworthy."

Nick's face had been hardened, eyebrows furrowed as he listened to Judy; but as she explained and he contemplated, his expression began to relax and soften. "Yeah, I…" He tilted his cup toward him and peered back down into his drink. "…that makes sense. I suppose you're right."

"You were just being a friend," she said softly, and placed a paw on the back of his arm. "You were concerned about me to begin with, and that definitely didn't help."

"No, I wasn't concerned. It just wasn't any fun bickering with a brick wall." His signature coy smile slid onto his face.

Judy scoffed and lightly smacked his arm. "You liar!"

"Officer Hopps, I would _never,_ " he gasped, holding a paw to his chest. "Lying to a cop is a crime, and I am an obedient, law-abiding citizen."

"Yeah, a law-abiding citizen who has twenty years' worth of tax evasion under his belt!"

"Which I am paying back, with interest," Nick swiftly countered, holding up a finger.

Judy smiled. "Speaking of the tax evasion," she sang, "you might like to know something."

His emerald eyes peered down at her, a stark and lovely contrast to the red of his fur. "And what is that, sweetheart?" The emeralds glittered.

Judy smirked up at him, cocking a brow and swinging her legs. "You remember how Jack said we'd get paid ten thousand dollars if we succeeded at this mission?"

"Ugh. Yeah?"

She sipped her smoothie. "I don't think that was the MI6's terms."

Nick clenched his jaw. "What do you mean?"

"I think that Jack is paying it out of his own pocket."

The fox let out a grumpy snort, rolling his eyes and taking a deep gulp of his drink. "Oh yeah, of course he is," he spat sarcastically as he lowered the smoothie from his lips. "Soon, he'll be paying for our rent and fixing the leaky faucet in my bathroom, too."

"No, think about it!" Judy insisted, leaning forward so she could meet the fox's eyes. "If the MI6 payed us, then somewhere they would have record of it. If the ZIA suspected that the MI6 was using us to investigate them and somehow found the records, it wouldn't only be the ZIA and MI6 at war; the _ZPD_ would be part of it, too!"

Nick just wore a small frown, watching Judy with a disgruntled look on his face.

"That's not the only reason, though. We're getting paid because he knew about my loan problems and your tax evasion debt; he even told me that it was worth the cost if it kept good cops on the streets. Nick," she breathed, "he's giving you and me a path towards being free of all this debt crap, don't you see?"

"If we succeed."

Judy blinked. "What?"

Nick's eyebrows furrowed with his scowl, and he gazed pointedly at her. "We have to do well on his mission first," he murmured, "listen to him and do what he wants. By hanging the money over our heads, he's just putting us right where he wants us."

"That's not fair, Nick. You're not even giving him a chance or even the benefit of the doubt; you hardly know the guy."

His green eyes turned to focus on the opposite wall; he held his cup to his lips. "Well neither do you, Fluff. I happen to think you're giving him a little too much benefit and not enough doubt." He took a deep drink.

Judy scoffed. "That's ridiculous. He's a _secret agent_ ; if Bogo trusts him, then so do I."

With a strangely handsome and coy smile forming on his face, Nick pushed his paw that was holding his smoothie towards Judy; he delicately lifted his pinkie off the cup, as if it was porcelain and filled with tea and not plastic and half-filled with blueberry goodness.

"If I'm Agent Teatime, sitting here on top of twenty grand in my expensive Italian suit and sipping Earl Grey, here's where Slick Nick and Cutie Judy would be." He took the pointer finger of his opposite paw and made a winding motion around his pinkie, giving a wide-eyed stare to the bunny. "Twisted around his little finger, Carrots. Practically _knotted_."

 _Nick is such a pill._

Judy gave a small chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the fox. "You are so unbelievably cynical. It's incredible, really."

"And you're so unbelievably optimistic," Nick flung back, but the smile had grown on his snout. "I guess that's why we're friends, right? To balance each other out?"

Judy grinned up at him. "I guess so."

Nick chuckled, and took a long chug of his smoothie. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and muttered, "Even if he is taking advantage of us, I suppose I can suffer through. Zootopia's worth it."

Pride and happiness swelled through Judy when the fox said this; she didn't realize how giddily she was grinning until Nick sent her an uncomfortable glance, examining her face with a mix of uncertainty and amusement. "Don't look too happy, you might spontaneously combust; all that'll be left is some bunny fluff and Easter eggs."

"You did _not_ just make an Easter Bunny joke."

He sneered. "I did, Officer Hopps, I did indeed."

… … … … …

The next day, Jack and Chief Bogo had opted to meet on a business lunch.

They decided it was the better option, so the officers in the ZPD wouldn't wonder why Jackson Russel the accountant was coming in every other day. They had chosen a smaller café tucked into a street corner, with limited windows and more private table choices. The hare was waiting for Chief Bogo at one twenty-three in the afternoon, sitting at a larger booth to accommodate the buffalo's size, with a steaming cup of black coffee sitting patiently in front of him.

Jack was very thankful that Officer Wilde had pointed out the suit situation to him the day before; while Jack hadn't initially thought he would have had to go into the office pretending to be Jackson Russel, it was still good to take into consideration that an accountant wouldn't wear an Italian suit. Jack didn't actually buy the suit with his own money—a good majority of his clothing was provided by MI6—but it didn't prevent Jack from inwardly kicking himself for not thinking of it earlier. So that day, he wore a simpler ensemble of khakis, a white turtleneck, and a windbreaker; he didn't regret it one bit. It was immensely comfortable.

In the inside pocket of this windbreaker, an envelope possessing a single photo was pressed against his ribcage. Jack tried to distract himself from its presence, look natural; he quietly read a newspaper and sipped at his coffee, nodding amiably at anyone who happened to pass close by the booth. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the coffee was of good quality and thoroughly enjoyable; he preferred tea, of course, but he could definitely appreciate the authoritative stoutness of coffee. He liked it without cream or sugar, just like his liked his tea.

There was a loud shuffle and the mumble of a greeting, and Jack lowered his newspaper to establish the source of the noise. Chief Bogo was slipping into the booth, thick jacket zipped to hide his uniform shirt and glasses perched on his nose; he was giving his usual furrowed-brow stare at the bunny sitting across from him.

"Jack."

The hare nodded a silent hello. "Chief." He started to fold up his newspaper. "Thank you for taking time away from your busy schedule to meet with me."

Bogo only shrugged, and jut his chin downwards. "They didn't have a booth that could fit both of us, I suppose."

Jack looked down; his seating arrangement wasn't unusual, but notable. The waitress had taken a chair from one of the tables built for smaller mammals and set it in the much larger bench of the booth so the hare could reach the table; a seat on top of a seat. There were booths in the café that were made to include both big and small mammals, but they were all placed directly in front of the two solitary bay windows that quaintly accented the front of the establishment.

Being small in a world of big and bad mammals never ceased to make Jack feel a little ridiculous, but he pushed it off with a shrug and a chuckle. "This table was more private. The waitress was very accommodating."

Bogo nodded gruffly, and glanced around the restaurant; despite it being lunchtime, there were not very many customers. There was a soala couple giggling and eating little sandwiches, an older female hippopotamus reading a book, and a young teenage porcupine on his phone in the far corner who was most likely skipping school. None were within earshot, but the cape buffalo still looked a bit skeptical. "You sure a restaurant is acceptable for exchanging confidential information?"

Jack shrugged again, this time taking a long sip of his coffee. "This one is, at least," he replied simply, setting the mug back on its saucer.

"And you would know that, how?"

Jack cleared his throat. "Well," he began, "I didn't know at first. It was a toss-up, but I knew it had less business than other establishments, so I settled on it." He gestured to the space around them. "It's open, not cluttered, and we can see anyone coming in and out of the door. The couple over there?"

Bogo glanced toward them, still skeptical. "Yeah. What about them?"

"They were here before me. Snogging when I walked in. They were talking about normal things, I couldn't detect anything that may be code—unless discussing the fact that her friend Karen copped off with a lad named Jeffrey is code for something." Jack jutted his head toward the old hippo. "This lady entered right in front of me. She has hearing aids and a prescription package in her purse with the name _Agatha Mawpool_ printed on the outside. It is quite unlikely that she is a spy in disguise."

Bogo peered over to the old woman, and Jack knew he would find the prescription package poking out of the top of her worn leather bag; the name enscribed on it, however, was unreadable from across the restaurant. Then the Chief focused back on the hare, still seemingly unconvinced. "And the kid?"

Jack glanced over to the porcupine, who was glaring impatiently at his phone with earbuds in his ears. "Oh, he's suspicious, but in an entirely different way," he chuckled.

"Not sure what you mean."

Jack sniffed, and lifted his coffee cup off his saucer again. "I saw him tuck a roll of bills into his jacket pocket earlier," he answered. "Tapping his foot impatiently, glancing up every time someone walked by or entered. Repeatedly checking his phone." He pressed the mug against his lips, the porcelain still hot from the coffee it held. "I'm assuming he's waiting for a drug deal."

Bogo scoffed. "In _here?"_

"No, out there," Jack replied, jutting his head toward the bay window. Just across the street, a small, inconspicuous alley could be seen; inside there were four large industrial garbage cans. Three of the four lids had been raised, a detail easily overlooked by swift-footed passersby distracted with getting from point A to point B in the shortest amount of time possible.

Bogo's eyes widened with surprise, and he looked at Jack with a slightly disbelieving puff from his nose. The furrow of his brow never lifted. "A dead drop?"

Jack shrugged. "Spies use them all the time, I know what even the most subtle ones look like; this poor bloke knows he's going to get his merchandise today, so he's anxiously awaiting his dealer to drop it." Jack took a light sip from his coffee, and was delighted to be reminded that it was still pleasantly hot. "Once the drugs are dropped—which I'm assuming will be taped to the back of one of those wheelie bins—the dealer will either raise the last lid or shut one of the open ones as a signal, and this porcupine will go gather his goods and tape the money where the drugs were for his dealer to pick it up."

The buffalo's eyebrows raised. "I know what a dead drop is, Agent." Nothing in his tone was accusatory; he actually sounded a bit impressed.

"I'm sure you do, Chief." Jack placed his coffee cup back down, but this time not on its saucer; it clinked on the wooden surface of their table. "To be honest, a part of me wishes this dealer would come so I won't have to keep having to endure hearing the horrid screaming music that he's listening to on those bloody earphones."

Bogo glanced up at Jack's long, sensitive ears, which were obviously the reason for this. "I'll see if I can catch him on my way out," he mumbled to himself.

The waitress came by to jot down the buffalo's order; despite this being a "business lunch", neither of them got anything to eat. Bogo just ordered a large black coffee, blurting out the title of the drink halfheartedly; Jack doubted he actually wanted to order anything, but appreciated the fact that he was trying to look a bit less conspicuous. His face was on the telly quite a bit; if they weren't careful, they would catch the eye of a mammal who was familiar with Chief Bogo's face and draw unnecessary attention.

"So let's get down to business, shall we?" Bogo grumbled as the waitress walked off, muttering quietly to herself.

"I couldn't agree more." Jack reach into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out the photo that had been burning his ribcage. "First of all—this tattoo on Jeremy Packard's neck. Have you seen it before?"

Bogo accepted the picture and peered down through his spectacles; he blinked wordlessly a few times. His expression was vacant. "The two of the other three preds that were caught had that tattoo."

"Why was this valuable piece of information not in the files you gave me?"

Bogo's eyes narrowed slightly: Jack knew his tone was slightly accusatory, but it was frustrating when he wasn't given all the details all at once. "Because," Bogo answered, "The connection is not for certain. If you'll remember Dick Sandeclaw's autopsy report, he had clawed at his own neck before collapsing and dying behind that Bug-Burga—there were remnants of a tattoo, but if it was _that_ tattoo is unknown. Just having two other similar tattoos wasn't enough to confirm anything, and when I gave you those copies of the files, the lab had the originals of the tattoo photos."

Jack cocked his brow. "Why?"

"They were…ahem." Bogo shifted, and his scowl softened a bit; he glanced out the window for a brief seconds, like he was searching the street for the right words. "They were trying to…reassemble Sandeclaw's skin, to see if it was a match."

The hare nodded in understanding, giving a long hum in thought. "Is this the only thing connecting the assaulters?"

"Other than the same drug in the apprehended preds and having photos of Wraqune communicating with each of the assaulters—even the ones we haven't captured—no. We have essentially nothing connecting all these savage animals together." Bogo heaved a great sigh, leaning on the table with his burly elbows. "But even so, every animal that goes savage will have to be considered a part of this." He snorted roughly. "The law may say 'innocent until proven guilty', but I don't think MI6 will mind of we say 'guilty until proven innocent'just this one time."

Jack felt something creep up the inside of his chest and tug at his lungs urgently. He silently pushed away the doubt that was piling itself up in his brain, and concentrated instead on the intense frown that was carved into the Chief's face.

"Well, please inform me promptly of any news you receive on Sandeclaw's tattoo."

"Will do."

Jack carefully slipped the photo back into the pocket of his windbreaker. "Is there any more news from your officers' investigation?"

"Not very much," Bogo answered, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat. "They don't suspect anything, I don't think, but it's only a matter of time before they will realize what I'm trying to do."

"Did your officers turn in the statement reports of the mammals that may have witnessed Packard's attack on Whitehall? I may need those."

"I have them right here to give to you, actually," Bogo mentioned, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a smaller-sized file folder. "I also have some records of the progression of the state that Jeremy Packard is in, as well as Jessica Whitehall. And whatever small leads the officers on the case have found, which isn't much."

Jack retrieved the yellow folder and opened it to reveal reports pinned neatly with a paper clip, creased slightly from being in the buffalo's jacket pocket. They were all copies of originals, and of smaller size than the files that were common in the ZPD; Bogo must have taken the originals, copied them, and transferred the copies onto pages of smaller size for the hare's convenience.

"Thank you, Chief," Jack said, trying to push a grateful smile onto his face. "I know it must be difficult to purposefully deceive your officers, and I appreciate what you do."

Shrugging slightly, Bogo's sight shifted downward and then over to the approaching waitress, who was carrying a steaming cup of coffee. "It can be difficult, but it's all for Z—the cause." Bogo was quick to amend his words to cover their true meaning while their waitress placed the coffee mug and saucer in front of him.

Bogo hadn't bothered to give a thanks to the waitress, but she didn't seem to mind. She returned to the kitchen, where faint laughing could be heard; probably other employees conversing while business was slow.

"I also wanted to apologize," Jack said as he watched Bogo wrap a hoof around the handle of the coffee cup, but not pick it up. "I know I told you that I wouldn't test Hopps' and Wilde's abilities, but in order to formulate a plan, I have to know what they're capable of."

"That's definitely understandable. I scheduled the gym at the department to be closed off at three, and for as long as you need thereafter." Bogo gave the tiniest ghost of a smirk. "There's been an ant problem, and we're spraying pesticides—the fumes can be harmful for anyone who doesn't have a gas mask. We'll have to cover up the cameras, too, because the spray could make them short out."

Bogo was definitely a clever buffalo—Jack could see why he had been Chief of Police for the cultural center of the world for so long. "That's perfect. Thank you."

Bogo nodded gruffly in reply. "And I hope Wilde doesn't talk back to you like he has been. Let me know if he does, I'll set him straight."

"It doesn't bother me, Chief," Jack chuckled. "it really doesn't. In fact, I think it's a bit amusing."

"He usually doesn't convey his feelings so openly," Bogo replied, rolling one shoulder back as he spoke. "He always hides it by being a smartass; especially when it comes to mammals giving him grief because of his species. When he first arrived, I noticed he always retaliated to their comments with sass." A low huff. "Then I later realized that he retaliates to _everything_ with sass."

"Well, it certainly makes things interesting."

Bogo suddenly looked extremely disgruntled, and rolled his eyes. "'Infuriating' is the word I would use." He paused in thought for a moment; his eyebrows raised just a bit. "Though, he's obedient. And he gets his work done, and does it well, too. It's the only reason I let him slide by with his comments."

"I'm sure you wouldn't have suggested him for this mission if you didn't think him capable," Jack agreed, gazing into what little he had of his coffee left. Probably cold now.

The buffalo shrugged; he then apparently decided to take a huge gulp from his own coffee cup, which was much bigger than Jack's. He swallowed deeply as he set the mug back down on its saucer. "If there's one thing I've realized since Wilde and Hopps have become partners, it's that they're very protective of each other."

"They do seem very close."

"They work almost too well together," Bogo replied. "They're both great cops, but the reason why they're my best is because they're partners." He gave a small _hmph,_ and leaned back into his seat; somewhere, wood creaked. "You can't have one without the other, even if one is extremely enthusiastic and the other has an affinity for smartass comments."

 _Neither are necessarily bad things,_ Jack thought to himself. The saola couple was leaving now, practically hanging off each other and cooing romantically as they exited the café.

"But they're very…closely knit," the buffalo continued, folding his massive arms. "Like I said, they're protective of each other. There has been one too many times when Hopps has kicked a fellow officer in the face for making fun of Wilde being a fox."

The thought of Miss Hopps, who was definitely tiny in comparison to the officers he had seen roaming the department, jamming a heel into the jaw of a rhino or other equally large mammal amused Jack. "Did she not get in trouble?"

Bogo scoffed loudly. "If my officers can't take a beating inside the department, then what makes me think they can take a beating outside the department? Fights aren't common, and no one would dare mess with Hopps. She's a force to be reckoned with."

Jack couldn't help but feel proud. While it was true he was a hare and she was a bunny, they were socially conceived as practically the same species, despite their major differences. To know that there was another rabbit besides himself who was able to stand up to wolves and rhinos gave him a feeling of satisfaction—and their pursuit to become less about rabbits defying stereotypes and more about making the world a better place gave them both a certain dignity that no one else could understand.

With the exception of Officer Wilde. Jack had seen this fox's arrest record; it was impeccable. Jack respected him—he had become just as much of an advocate for improving the world as Miss Hopps, and surely from unideal circumstances.

He just hoped that they were ready for the different kind of intensity and commitment it took to spy. Speaking of…

"There is one thing I worry about, in regards to Officer Wilde's dislike for me."

"Mm," was Bogo's short reply.

Jack tilted his coffee cup to and fro, swirling the contents within; coffee grounds circled sluggishly in the bottom. "Officer Wilde definitely doesn't respect me." Jack shifted his vision from his cup to the buffalo across from him, and felt himself press his mouth into a thin line. "That can be a problem."

"You should have his respect." Bogo tensed his massive arms; Jack was easily the size of his bicep. Despite his muscles and low, gruff voice, he still managed to have an air of intelligence with his careful words and the spectacles that rested on his snout. "You've earned it, just by…engaging in your line of work."

"I honestly could care less Chief," Jack countered, shaking his head. "His attitude doesn't matter right _now_ , when we aren't on the field and having to work as a team." He folded his own arms tightly. "But the second we _are_ doing a job, having to function together, and he does something out of spite or disrespect? That is when it becomes a problem, Chief Bogo."

Bogo gave a quick nod and grunt in agreement. "You're absolutely correct, but let me assure you that Wilde is dependable. He may be sarcastic and sly, but he's not stupid; he knows the importance of teamwork as much as the rest of us."

"I hope you're right." Jack tossed the rest of his coffee down his throat—it _was_ cold. He placed his mug back down on his saucer with a tiny _tink_ and looked at the buffalo pointedly. "For the sake of the mission."

"I suppose you'll get a sense of it soon. Tomorrow at three."

Jack clenched his teeth, thinking about the fox. Jack liked Officer Wilde fine, especially since the way he did everything was so unorthodox; but he was _effective._ His records for the time he had been a cop was plenty of proof.

He only hoped that Wilde's unorthodox way of handling things didn't come with a heavy dose of disobedience.

"Yes," Jack replied, watching as Bogo's stare was suddenly following the young porcupine who was now walking towards the exit hastily. Like Jack had said, the lid of the last wheelie bin had been lifted; now the teenager was going to go collect. "I suppose I will."

As soon as the door closed behind the porcupine with a few light tinkles of a bell, Bogo slid out of his seat. "I'm going to go nab this kid. Need anything else?"

"No, Chief. Please, proceed."

… … … … …

After a day of boring paperwork that they needed to finish before the start of this new assignment, Judy had convinced Nick to come over and watch a few episodes of _Murder, She Wrote_ —it was an older show that featured a widowed mystery novelist named Jessica Fletcher solving homicide cases. Judy loved the show; she grew up watching it. She would always try to figure out who the killer was before the protagonist did.

The day had gone by so great. Nick was acting like himself, no longer being weird; Judy was thankful. She also felt a million times better since Nick now knew about her money issues. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders; Nick was right, she should have told him earlier, if not for his sake then for hers. But now he knew, and he felt better about the whole situation…therefore, so did she.

Judy had made blueberry smoothies again, much to Nick's pleasure. They were sitting on Judy's bed, propped up on a few throw pillows leaned against the wall; Judy was wrapped up in a blanket. Her bed was narrow and Nick wasn't exactly small in comparison, so they were a bit crowded—they didn't mind. They were used to it. Judy was, at least; she liked being in close proximity with him. Maybe it was because she had spent her whole life bumping elbows with her siblings.

Halfway through the second episode they chose, which was a mystery about the killing of a man on a bus that Judy had already seen, Nick piped up. "It's the bus driver."

Judy, who had curled into a blanket and was slightly leaning into Nick's arm, glanced up at him angrily. "Nick, you just have to ruin everything, don't you?"

"It was obvious, though! When the guy got on the bus, the bus driver sounded like he wanted to kick him out and run him over more than just one time." Nick scratched his chin, and peered at the main character on the laptop screen talking about how they were stuck with a broken-down bus in a particularly bad storm. "On another note, her voice sounds very familiar."

The bunny beside him smiled. "It's Angela Lansbeary. She voiced Mrs. Potts on _Beauty and the Beast_."

" _That's_ what it is!"

A loud giggle slipped out of Judy's mouth. "You've seen _Beauty and the Beast_?"

"Yeah." Nick shrugged, a cool expression suddenly falling on his face. "Belle is one of the chiller princesses. I appreciate her smarts."

"While I wholeheartedly agree, don't think this won't be used for blackmail."

Nick scoffed. "Bogo loves _Gazelle_ , and you think I'm worried about mammals knowing I've watched _Beauty and the Beast_?"

"Touché." Judy focused back on the screen, where the protagonist—an older, small, kind-faced bear—was examining a book belonging to the murder victim. "Isn't Jessica Fletcher such a sweet thing?"

"I'm more intrigued at the fact that this little town in Maine seems to be the murder capital of the country for the whole twelve seasons the show ran."

Judy just rolled her eyes, ignoring his comment, and sighed dreamily. "Her middle name is Beatrice, isn't that nice? I like it. It's an older and unusual name, like mine."

Nick shrugged. "I guess it's pretty okay." Then he gaped at the screen, where a character was holding a screwdriver and observing it closely. "Daaaang, they pulled that thing out of the guy's neck? This show is more intense than I thought."

They watched silently for a few minutes, but Judy soon found she couldn't concentrate. She thought about the fox she was leaning on, and his big marshmallow heart hidden behind his emotional walls; he obviously exposed it when he was defensive of Judy from Jack, and how open he was about skepticism and dislike towards the hare, which was unusual of him. She also thought about the way he had gracefully given Sam some essential advice about making the right choices. Not she didn't think Nick was capable of such things—of course he was—but she was very worried at the fact that he let himself do it. She didn't know if it was the fact that everything was seemingly happening at once, or seeing Sam again, or having to save Zootopia for a second time…but something was making Nick feel it was necessary to open up.

Which begged the question… "Nick?"

Nick was lazily watching the screen, his gaze half lidded. "Carrots?" He didn't tear his eyes from the laptop as the practically-omnipresent coy smirk slid onto his face.

"Why _do_ you dislike Agent Savage so much?"

Nick's face was unchanging as he shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I receive a bad vibe from him or something."

Judy cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"The meeting in the office wasn't the first time I saw the guy," Nick immediately replied. He interrupted his explanation with a long chug of his smoothie. He wiped his mouth with the pad of a paw. "I saw him the day before; he had walked into the ZPD, and gave me a death glare."

Judy blinked as she listened, unbothered by the fact that this episode of _Murder, She Wrote_ was now no longer getting the attention it deserved.

"Then we saw him in the office. Bogo obviously liked him, and Bogo doesn't _like_ anyone." Nick looked down at the bunny leaning against him for a split second, and then straight ahead. "And then he pretends to be an accountant. Not cool."

Judy scoffed. "I'm sure you had just as many aliases as Agent Savage has."

"Oh, I did," Nick replied, and shrugged. "But now I don't. I get he's a spy, but…I don't know. Plus, he's dangling the money in our faces."

"Money isn't necessarily a bad thing, Nick."

"No, but it shouldn't be about the money," Nick countered, his voice completely level. "It should be about Zootopia."

Pride swelled inside Judy, and she pushed herself closer to the fox in happiness. "Nick, that's…you're fantastic."

"Among other fabulous traits." After a few seconds of a toothy grin, Nick's smile faltered a bit—he glanced down toward the moving figures in the laptop screen. "But, he's fine, I suppose. I understand why he's doing what he's doing. But like you said, maybe I'm not trusting of him and…a little protective of you and your tiny, fragile bunny heart."

Judy scoffed lightly, a bit amused. "Of my heart?" What a strange thing to say.

"Yeah."

Judy thought for a moment as she curled her blanket tighter around her body; she was way too warm, but the weight of the cloth provided her much-needed comfort.

"Nick," she finally let herself say, "yesterday, you were very…very open."

"I know."

Judy blinked at his blunt reply, a bit stunned. "Especially about Jack."

Nick didn't say anything in reply this time; he just kept watching the episode with a half-lidded gaze.

"What makes him different, Nick?"

The fax didn't reply for one long moment; he let his shoulders falter, and then pop up and down into another nonchalant, sluggish shrug.

"Not sure," he admitted, the half-lidded eyes glancing towards her and offering a small smirk. "But what I do know is that you would trust any official sliding in with a badge of any kind."

"Maybe you're being openly defensive because now you have an awesome best friend you want to protect," Judy offered, giving her best friend a small smile and a small nudge of an elbow through her blanket. "Though, I can't imagine why. I can hold my own."

"Against a grizzly bear, maybe." Nick was giving her a lighthearted snicker, peering back down at her with his smirk curling wider. "But you've got a big heart, Fluff, and you wear it on your sleeve. If Double-Oh-Bunny ends up not being who we think he is, you'll be pretty hurt."

Judy felt her ears flush; but if there was one thing she had gotten better at since becoming Nick's friend, it was choosing her battles. "I can admit that," she chuckled begrudgingly. "Though yesterday, you seemed pretty apt to wear your heart on _your_ sleeve too!" She crossed her eyes and hunched over her shoulders, squeaking out in an old-man voice, _"Don't let them see that they get to you, Carrots…"_

"If I didn't regret every moment of it before, I sure do now," Nick quipped, rolling his eyes; but the genuine smile and throaty laugh he had obviously couldn't be helped. "Saying that stuff to Sam alone is enough to make me cringe."

 _Speaking of…_ "Um…Nick?"

The fox was noisily sucking the last of his blueberry smoothie, his cup tilted so the end of his snout was completely hidden. He looked at her sideways; his green eyes were prettily reflecting the light of Judy's laptop screen and veiled by his half-lidded gaze. "Nnnyeah?" he asked into what remained of his drink.

"I…know I've bothered you about this before," she mumbled, turning her face away from him and digging her chin into her blankets. "But, I want to know…You don't have to answer, I'm just…" She looked back up at him.

He was cocking an eyebrow; his eyebrows were nice, thick. Judy wished she had eyebrows more like his.

"…I'm asking permission to ask you…a bit of a sensitive question." She gave a short, awkward laugh. "Well, another one."

His nice eyebrows raised almost off his forehead. "Oh, I see. And what is this about, Officer Hopps? I assure you, my hustling days are over; whatever you've got on me, I was framed. I've turned over a new leaf, you see."

"Heh, no." Judy could feel a ghost of a smile slide across her face at his antics, but nonetheless felt her ears lowering. "Your…mom." She shifted uncomfortably. "It's about your mom."

Then, Judy could practically hear the bang¸ bam of Nick's walls raising up and setting themselves firmly in place; her heart whimpered.

Nick blinked, pausing for only a moment. Then he tossed up his cup against his muzzle again, sending the last few drops of blueberry smoothie down his throat; the air had grown denser, so much more serious. Judy hated when this happened. She had learned so much about reading mammals from Nick himself—but his own walls were so incredibly impenetrable that when he put them up, the only thing she could sense was that something was wrong. It drove her absolutely insane.

He lowered his cup, resting it on his stomach as he gazed at Judy's laptop screen; the episode was ending with Ms. Fletcher and the beaver sheriff discussing something abot a raffled television set. Judy was impatiently waiting for him to say something, anything; she could feel her foot become tempted to vibrate.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak; his teeth glinted. "Sorry, Officer Hopps," he muttered plainly. He still didn't look at her. "You'll have to come back with a warrant."

… … … … …

 **I would like the start off this AN on a slightly serious note: it was brought to my attention by a dependable reader that Nick may have been a bit uncharacteristic with his openness in the last chapter. Part of me did mean to do this, because I was thinking "Well this feeling he has has never happened to him before; I want it to have such an impact on him that he feels a** _ **need**_ **to act differently, or that he can't help it". There is also the fact that two chapters happened within a seven hour period, so I thought that it could be perfectly possible for Nick's walls to falter for that short amount of time…But then again, it probably would have been more accurate for Nick to have instinctively put up his walls instead of being more open and angry. So in this chapter, I sought to—maybe not** _ **fix**_ **it, but manipulate and explain the situation to seem more plausible for it to happen. Hope it worked?**

 **I don't know if Judy would actually like the name Beatrice…but it's my first name, so I'm gonna say she would. :)**

 **The episode of Murder, She Wrote that Judy and Nick watched was called "Murder Takes The Bus". The main character is played by Angela Lansbury, who does in fact play Mrs. Potts in Beauty and the Beast. How freakin' adorable is that? Who wouldn't love a show about Mrs. Potts being an amateur detective and solving murders? No one, that's who. :):):):) Sorry for the episode spoilers.**

 **Remember how I said I would post links to pictures? Here's a late Christmas present! (Very late…sorry…) Love you guys, I hope you all had happy holidays—and have a happy New Year!**


	6. My Lovely Girl Named Zootopia

**Check out the author's note at the end.**

 **Enjoy~**

… … … … …

 **Chapter Six: My Lovely Girl Named Zootopia**

Charlotte Beveren had a bit of trouble getting herself onto the train to Zootopia. On the plus side, a nice stranger had stopped to help her with her suitcase—but even then, simply sitting down in the hard plastic chairs was difficult. Her swollen belly made everything much harder.

Despite the difficulty of function, Charlotte loved being pregnant. Even if the three little bunnies growing in her tummy didn't have their father anymore, they had her and she had them; all three of them.

Not two. Three. Confirmed by a very relieved Dr. Woolard a week before.

He had recommended a specialist in Zootopia, just in case, though. Tumors can be unpredictable at times, especially in a developing baby—multiple visits would be in order, which means that Charlotte would have to stay in Zootopia until after she had her litter. She hadn't told Judy yet, she was hoping it could be a surprise; despite having been back in Bunnyburrow and occupying a secretary's desk until her third trimester, she had been quite lonesome and was very much looking forward to experiencing Judy's peppy personality again.

Besides, it had been quite a long time since she last saw Judy, and it hadn't been in the happiest of circumstances.

Charlotte shook off the negative thoughts—they weren't good for the babies!—and let herself settle as best she could into her seat, pulling a _25,000+ Baby Names!_ book and a little pink highlighter from her purse. Opening the book with her right paw and reaching for her bag of dried mango (full of vitamin A and C!) with her left, she made herself as comfortable as possible for the ride into the big city.

It would be okay if they didn't have a father, Charlotte decided as she popped a mango into her mouth and highlighted the name _Lillith_ with a streak of florescent pink. At least she was only having three babies—she could have inherited her mom's superb fertility and conceived ten.

Yes, she and her three kits would be perfectly happy together. Their own little family.

... … … … …

Jack had executed plenty of arduous missions throughout his career, spanning from preventing other countries from using biological warfare to saving the Prime Minister's daughter from a hostage situation—but there was one mission in particular that Jack would always deem as one of the most difficult.

The ultimate objective was to take down a small terrorist organization. It didn't seem hard at first—at least in comparison to his other missions—and obtaining information wasn't too challenging…but unfortunately, Jack's assigned partner had gotten himself captured by the enemy. He was a rookie agent—a lynx who called himself Weston Rades, in his debut mission. To make matters worse, Rades also had in his possession the coordinates of the terrorist groups' hidden nuclear missile, so his escape was essential to their success.

As his colleague, it was Jack's responsibility to rescue Rades and obtain the coordinates.

Jack went through hell and back that day. He had to: sprint through a forest, scale a two-hundred foot cliff, take out one-too-many guards, change into a dead guard's disguise, pretend to be said guard, hack the computer to gain his entry, re-wire security cameras, make it through the extensive and extremely intelligent security system, fight a machine gun-wielding elephant, break into a safe, take on three more livid rhinos, pick an extensive amount of locks, and make it to the room Rades and the coordinates were being held in—not necessarily in that order.

And that was only the way there.

On the way back, he had to dart around _more_ large mammals—it had seemed that the longer he was there, the more appeared. He eventually had to stop fighting them and start just running through them, dragging the rookie along with him.

They had just reached the outside of the building when a helicopter swept in and cut off their escape with obviously unfriendly intentions. They were surrounded, and the head of the terrorist organization sauntered out of the copter and engaged in some boring, self-gratifying monologue that Jack hardly paid attention to. Ultimately, one thing led to another and Jack found himself directing the copter off the ground, the leader slumped unconscious against the back of the copilot's seat and the grounded swarm of guards unloading their magazines into them. The rookie was stupid and tried to fire back down at the ground; he made himself visible, and in result got shot in the arm.

Jack never lets himself sigh in relief—even when escape seems close—because one could never be so sure. He was usually right. One of the mammals on the ground happened to have a Bazooka handy, and shot it as they had begun to fly away; the copter's tail was hit, and it began to spin out in a fenzy of fire, smoke, and the Rades' unappealing screams.

Fortunately, Jack managed to hold to chopper airborne long enough to pass over a small nearby lake, and because Jack always opted to jump instead of crash, he pulled himself and the other agent out of the copter just before it smashed onto the lake's surface.

The loss of blood and the impact of hitting the water was too much for Rades; he passed out. Jack used one arm to keep the lynx's head above water, and using floating debris as a buoy, he swam back to shore.

His job still wasn't over. Now, all the organization was searching frantically for the location of the hare as well as their leader—Jack could hear multiple helicopters lifting off from afar. After quickly tending to Rades' wound and wrapping it up, he heaved the lynx onto his back and set off into the forest.

Jack jogged two miles with Rades unconscious on his back, helicopters hovering overhead, and managed to reach the small stealth jet he used as his ride there. He lifted off and experienced minimal airborne conflict with nearby aircraft, thanks to the jet's speed versus the copters'; it was a relatively clean escape in comparison to how rough the rest of the rescue had gone.

If he had managed to pull off that headache of a challenge not much worse for wear, then why was this particular mission so difficult? Jack wouldn't say it was difficult as much it was a _test._ Jack used almost everything he had been required to learn extensively in that mission; it was a true determination of his abilities. A test of his strength, his speed, his combat, his operation of vehicles, his medical knowledge—nearly everything. Not only that, what made it so challenging in the first place was the incompetence and recklessness of his partner, whom he should have been able to wholeheartedly rely on.

Which is why he would not hold back with the informants' skill evaluations.

He didn't know what this mission—which he had inwardly deemed as _Operation Risk_ (which was, he admitted, terribly uncreative)—would ultimately entail. He had to be sure that Wilde and Hopps could, at the very least, handle a majority of what might be thrown at them. He understood that they most likely couldn't fly a helicopter or have the names of each known mob boss and their constituents memorized—but if they happened to, he wanted to know.

… … … … …

The test had been intense, to say the very least.

By the time that Nick and Judy had walked into the department's gym at 3 o'clock, an elaborate course had been set up; none of it made sense to Judy at first. It simply appeared to be a bunch of junk spread out across the floor and around the pool; but then Jack explained that it was a mixture of obstacles that required mental exertion, physical exertion, or both.

"There are nine major parts to this first obstacle course," Jack had explained to the duo. "Parkour, close combat, weaponry, lockpicking, endurance, speed, mechanics, electrics, and stealth. I don't expect perfect results, but I do want you to try your best."

"There _has_ to be more than that for spy work," Nick had scoffed in surprise.

Jack had nodded and smirked slightly. "There are fifty-two elements in the final test to become a secret agent," was Jack's snickering reply, "but we obviously don't have time for that. There are a few more parts in the second half of the evaluation."

The fox had not held back an exaggerated groan. "I'm at the edge of my seat with excitement."

The obstacle course was set up in a complicated order that Jack only briefly explained: first was a target with five different types of guns lined up on a table (such as an M-9 sidearm pistol, AA-12 shotgun, UZI and others, sized for their class of mammal). The magazines were out and a series of bullets were sitting upright in front of them, which meant that Judy and Nick had to determine which bullets went into which magazine, and which magazine into which gun; then they had to shoot at the target with each.

The second was simply a mat against a wall with a bell hanging on a high hook; the idea was to use their surroundings to find a way to maneuver up the wall and ring the bell.

The third obstacle was a series of several lock styles and a substantial lock picking kit—the intent was obvious.

The fourth was stealth; Jack had spread different types of materials across the floor and set up poles ten feet apart, which were strung with an intricate web of wire and twine laced with various items with much noise potential (cans, bells, etcetera). A chair had been placed in the center of the mess, where Nick would be sitting blindfolded while Judy attempted to soundlessly slide around him without alerting her presence—and vice versa when Nick did his own evaluation.

The fifth part was electrics, where a series of technologically-involved challenges would have to be solved, such as (but not limited to) defusing a fake bomb and rewiring an alarm. It also included hacking into a laptop.

The sixth part was close combat, with Jack as the opponent. Mechanics was the next portion, which was similar to the electric portion, except the intent was to fix the objects instead of manipulate them. Among the instruments laid out were broken tools, a small car engine, and even a gear-and-pulley setup

And finally, they had to jump into the pool fully clothed and swim laps for as long as they could; and Jack heavily emphasized "fully-clothed". No break, extra weight.

Judy took the initiative and volunteered to go first; but before she started, Jack made her run two timed miles around the gym's hurdle-lined track as fast as she could. After completing the two miles (which she knew she rocked), she was forced to immediately jump into the obstacle course—which was also timed, as if a grueling and intimidating test wasn't stressful enough already.

Judy honestly felt like she completely bombed it. Jack was silently watching her, taking notes on a small clipboard as she pushed through each obstacle—she was completely clueless on the electricity and lockpicking portions, so much so that Jack had shouted at her to forget it and move on to the next task. Her mechanical skills were acceptable—she silently told herself to thank her dad for forcing her to help fix his trucks and equipment. Judy was cheered up a bit at the fact that she proved to be a fair contender to Jack, who had won the close-combat match, but with some difficulty; she was quite proud of that.

Then it was the fox's turn; Judy couldn't help but roll her eyes at the blatant battle of manliness that was occurring, particularly from Nick. But, to her surprise, all he did was give off the vibe. He didn't snicker or send jabs at Jack, he only set his shoulders and started his test. He obviously meant business.

Judy thought Nick did amazingly on his test. If there was one thing that Nick excelled at, it was working under pressure; she would never dare tell him how much she marveled at his ability to keep calm in the face of chaos. He did well on the stealth portion despite her great hearing, and blazed through the guns and parkour. There was only one time that Jack told him to move on because he was struggling, and that was in the mechanics portion—Judy just figured that Nick didn't know much about machines because he always had Finnick to do it for him. Concern did flash quickly through her when she noticed how well Nick picked most of the locks and hacked into the laptop, but she decided to refrain from saying anything about it.

The ugliest part of Nick's test was definitely the close-combat portion. If Judy was being honest, she thought that she did a little better than Nick did on this particular part, but the match was still quite impressive; Jack won, of course, but at one point Nick had him pinned in an impressive lock. This made the fox a little too cocky, which Jack used to his advantage to win the match.

But that wasn't why it was so intense. Usually, while sparring, Nick bantered and laughed and cracked stupid jokes, but in that particular match he was completely silent; he wasn't glaring or angry-looking, but instead very serious…almost grave. Judy decided that it wasn't only because Jack was his adversary, but also because he realized the severity of the situation and committed his whole mind to the task at hand—which inevitably sent a jolt of pride through Judy. She didn't know why…maybe because he had grown an incredible amount since she first met him? She had no idea, but in the end, it didn't matter.

After Nick swam his laps, he went to change into some dry clothes and came out looking as spent as Judy felt. "Savage, man," Nick mumbled, swinging his towel over his shoulders and using it to dry the fur below his chin, "I don't know if I'm up for a second part of anything. I just want a long, hot shower."

Jack was jotting down last-minute notes on his clipboard and didn't look up as he replied offhandedly to the fox's remark. "Your enemies are not going to allow you to take a shower in the middle of a mission, Officer Wilde," he muttered distractedly. "This isn't about relaxation. This is about results."

"How long did it take you to set up all of this?" Judy asked, waving to the intricate setup with a tired paw. It felt like lead, just like the rest of her body; even her ears felt significantly heavier.

Jack gave her an amused smile. "I started very early this morning. Chief Bogo helped, I couldn't have done it without him."

She shook her head in disbelief and slumped back into her chair; it relieved her lower back immensely. "That's unreal. I can't imagine what the final test is like to become a spy."

"It lasts for several days, sometimes a week." The hare tucked the clipboard under his arm. "Unfortunately, we don't have a week."

"I'm kinda thinking that that's a good thing," Nick quipped, his classic half-lidded smile sliding onto his face. He fell into a chair beside Judy and sent her a sly little wink. "Don't you agree, Fluff?"

Judy felt one of her eyebrows raising. _Nick's acting normal, even though Jack's here._ "Um…yeah." _Did our talk make him feel better about the situation? I hope so._

Jack's smile grew wider and more amused, his blue-grey eyes sparkling. "Well, the subsequent test doesn't involve nearly as much physical activity—though, it may be mentally taxing, I warn you."

"Why don't we stretch this test into multiple days?" Nick suggested, giving an offhanded shrug of his shoulders and an exaggerated stretch of his arms. "I mean, _tomorrow_ sounds good. For part two, I mean. I think that's a better idea."

"I have to disagree, Officer," Jack replied sticking his paws into the pockets of his grey jogging pants.

Nick cocked an eyebrow at him, as if the hare had just introduced him with a personal challenge of some kind. Judy immediately felt her heart drop— _and everything had been going so well…_

But then a coy grin snuck onto his snout without another pause. "And why's that, Agent Double-Oh-Bunny?" Nick asked has he folded his arms over his bare chest, pressing down his fluffy, cream-colored fur.

"While you're on a mission, anything could happen," Jack immediately replied, almost as unmoving as a statue. "You may have to do all these things in a span of a few hours. It's best to know what all you can do in a short amount of time, so you can formulate game plans and be able to follow through." He paused for another moment, and glanced up at Nick pointedly. "And I'm a hare, not a bunny."

Nick shrugged, and the smug smile on his face grew wider; but he said nothing.

Judy felt a sigh of relief rush through her. _Good fox, choosing your battles._ "How did we do, Jack? Probably not nearly as well as other spies who do the program, I'm sure."

Jack snickered, the right side of his mouth pulling into a humored smirk. "You would be surprised."

"So we did well?"

"Considering the circumstances, and the fact that you've had no training under the ZIA or otherwise…" Jack pulled the clipboard out from under his arm and studied it silently for a moment. "Yes, I would say you did well."

"Of course she did," Nick chuckled, using the paw slung around the back of Judy's chair to give her a light smack on her shoulder. "Pride of the department, this bunny."

Judy felt something warm and bubbly rise to her cheeks, and she couldn't up but grin proudly.

"She can be a bit of a nuisance, though. She can hardly reach anything, I swear, I have to spend half the day with her on my shoulders so she can actually function—oof!" Nick's teasing ramble was interrupted by Judy jabbing her tiny bunny elbow into his ribs, which she was sure were very sore. She didn't feel an ounce of remorse.

"You did well too, Wilde," Jack replied, giving a respectful nod. "I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised."

A low, gruff _hm_ was the fox's response _._ "Thanks."

"Of course." The hare cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his tank top; this shirt revealed the dozens of scars across his shoulders and arms, and Judy had been trying not to look at them all day in fear of being rude. She thought about asking about them and had anticipated hearing some cool spy adventure stories, but then thought better of it.

"I guess now we start the second part of the test?" Judy suggested, sitting herself up and stretching her back muscles in preparation.

"You guess correctly, Miss Hopps," Jack answered.

"How mentally-straining is this going to be, exactly?" Nick asked his with a curve of his thick eyebrow.

Jack smirked. "Depends. Are you a strategic thinker?"

"I like to think I am."

"Then it will be doable, at the very least."

… … … … …

It was seven in the evening; the moon had crept out from behind the jagged horizon and buildings were aglow with neon lights of blinding luminescence, advertising happiness and beauty and full stomachs. Mammals walked and talked, some adorned in ornamented cocktail dresses and velvet suits, flitting with excitement for Zootopia's glistening night life—others, however, slugged home with slumped suitcoats and waning eyes, to which the eternal buzz of the city went unnoticed.

Nick was paying extra attention to these details as he walked alongside Judy; they decided once again to go back to her apartment and binge-watch episodes of whatever show caught their fancy until one of them passed out. Nick was looking forward to relaxing and expected they would fall asleep sooner than not this time, especially since the challenges had been so amazingly exhausting.

On the downside, Judy had run out of blueberries. Yogurt, too. Which meant no smoothies. Nick was disappointed, to say the least.

Oh well. At least he would be chilling with Judy. He needed to invest in a DVD player so they could watch the TV shows back at his apartment, which was way roomier and so much less of a shoebox than her stuffy Pangolin Arms room.

Judy had been chatting the whole way back, to which Nick would reply once in a while with a snide remark; but it had mostly been the bunny talking. She was currently babbling on about Jack's test, and how excited it made her for the mission—no surprise there.

"I mean, I felt like I didn't do so well," Judy said as they rounded the corner onto her block. "I thought you did amazingly! I'm just so ready to get down and dirty with this drug, help people like Sam and Jessica. Which reminds me, have you talked to Sam lately?"

"We talked a couple times," Nick managed to answer before she continued her spiel.

"We did too. I hope Jessica gets better. Sam is going through so much right now. We should get him something, Nick! Like a really, really good laptop for his studies. One with a touchscreen and tons of memory!" Judy's large eyes were darting from the path in front of her up to Nick, who couldn't help but only watch her with amusement in his cheeks and a chuckle forming in the back of his throat. Her smile was so big and toothy and adorable (not that he'd ever dare voice it for fear of further bruising of his arm); it made Nick want to smile, too.

Nick studied her as she continued to ramble, not really listening anymore. Man, her eyes were incredibly glittery—he could see the reflection of the city lights in her pupils. And she must have used that freesia soap when she showered back at the station, because his canine nose could smell it from even a few feet away; he was just glad she didn't use carrot-scented soap, because carrot-scented soap seemed like a very bunny thing to have. Almost everything bunnies own seemed to be carrot-themed in some way.

And did the soap do something to her fur? Her fur looked particularly soft. Maybe it had always looked that soft, he had just never noticed before—

"Oh my God," Judy suddenly said, interrupting her own ramble.

Nick blinked, tearing himself away from his thoughts. He noticed she was no longer smiling, but instead staring straight ahead at the dimly-lit entrance of Pangolin Arms.

"What?" He followed her line of sight; he noticed that there was a very plump bunny with dark grey fur and glasses standing at the entrance. She peered down at a piece of paper in her paws and then up at the building, as if she was unsure of where she was.

" _Lottie?!"_ The breathless squeal from beside him was oh-so-recognizable, and Nick looked down at the source to find that Judy had adorned a massive smile that occupied most of her face; her wide eyes, filled with surprise and wonder, covered up what was left.

The bunny at the entrance had turned her head sharply toward the duo; when she saw who was standing there, her face was then too submerged in a very similar grin. "Deedee!"

Nick cocked an eyebrow. _Deedee?_

The rushed toward each other, Judy engaging in practically a full sprint and the other bunny only managing a quick and slightly clumsy waddle. Despite her rush to reach the other mammal, Judy was extremely gentle with her hug, as if the slightest touch might break her.

Nick just stood frozen in his spot, not knowing what to do with himself.

"Lottie!" Judy gasped. "Lottie, oh my gosh—" Another giant hug. "You're _here!"_

The bunny apparently called Lottie giggled; Nick noticed she was quite a bit shorter than Judy. "Yeah, I'm here, Dee. Surprised?"

"Very!" Judy laughed. Then she paused and broke away from the bunny suddenly, her expression growing concerned. "Wait, you're _here?_ In Zootopia, by yourself. _Charlotte!_ What were you thinking?! Did someone come on the train with you? Is someone here to take _care_ of you?"

So her name was _Charlotte._ Ooohkay. Nick decided to refrain from calling her Lottie and stick to Charlotte.

Charlotte rolled her eyes exasperatedly, a humored smile curling onto her face. "Whoa, slow down. I'm _fine._ Dexter and Elijah helped me get to the station. I can handle myself."

"Lottie, that is so irresponsible! Do you seriously not have any help here, in _Zootopia_ of all places?! I'll get Ms. Armadillo to let you stay with me, I can go get a cot or something and you can sleep in my bed—"

" _Judy._ Listen to me." Charlotte held her at arm's length to look her straight in the eye. "I'm okay, I promise. I have everything worked out. I'm not going to stay with you and mess up your work schedule, that's out of the question."

Judy snorted. "Who are you staying with if you're not staying with me?"

"You remember my good friend Gina?"

"Uhh…"

"She moved here after she graduated, remember? She got that interior designing job." Charlotte pushed her glasses up her snout.

Judy blinked a few times, and her eyebrows raised. "Oooohhhh, right. Okay, yeah, she's nice."

Nick couldn't help but let out a chuckle; classic Judy, worrying way too much.

But this Charlotte bunny heard his laugh, and glanced past Judy's shoulder to set her eyes on the fox. "Who's this, Dee?"

Before Judy could answer, Nick stepped forward and held out a paw to the rabbit. "Nicholas Wilde, ma'am," he answered, letting a bit of his snide smile show. "Pleasure."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, and slid past Judy. "Oh, I see," she replied with a small but enthused grin as she grasped his paw and shook in return. Nick noticed it was a lot smaller than Judy's paw. " _You're_ Slick Nick! Dee's told me so much about you, I feel as if we're friends already."

When the new bunny had stepped around the visual barrier that was Judy, Nick noticed his earlier assessment of her being pudgy was incorrect; her large belly was not swollen from fantastic bunny food, but from pregnancy. Nick could see how tiny and petite she was past the roundness of her torso. While Judy had curves despite her small stature, Charlotte was just small in general; not only was her body a gentler and straighter shape, her feet and ears were slightly smaller than Judy's. It hadn't occurred to Nick until then that Judy might actually be considered tall, as far as female rabbits go.

Nick snickered. "You're Carrots' sister, then?"

Charlotte blinked at the nickname, but nodded amiably. "I am."

 _She's pregnant, by herself. No husband to take care of her? Probably divorce, but calling her "Hopps" would be the safe route._ "Well, it's nice to meet you, Miss Hopps m'dear."

She chuckled politely, pressing down one ear with an awkward paw. "Oh, um…just call me Charlotte. Or Lottie, whichever."

Judy shifted with discomfort, sending Nick a worried and uneasy look.

 _Okay, subject change. Got the hint._

He cleared his throat, and put on his most charming smile. "So, Charlotte, you like the city so far?"

Her brown eyes lit up; it reminded him of Judy, her eyes did the same thing. "Oh, yes! It's beautiful! I've been here a few times, but only on day trips. I've never seen the city at night before." Her voice was really soft, Nick could hardly hear it over the sounds of passersby and traffic and the static sound of neon lights.

"Ever eaten anywhere here?" Judy asked excitedly.

"No, I've never had the opportunity—"

"Well, you've come to the right fox!" Nick answered, giving her a wink. "Carrots and I have a favorite pizza joint—it's fantastic."

"Has the best pineapple pizza in the whole city!" Judy piped in.

Charlotte giggled. "Well, it seems I'm going to be convinced one way or the other. Very well, I give in. We'll go."

… … … … …

This pizza joint had first attracted Nick simply by the name— _Cheezus Crust._ Its slogan was, "Home of the heavenly slice!" and Nick figured that any establishment with a name that sounded like "Jesus Christ" and had an equally punny catchphrase _had_ to be good.

And oh, it was. They weren't joking about the "heavenly slice" thing.

They split a large pineapple pizza, per Judy's demand. While Charlotte nibbled with delicate bites and a napkin in her lap, Judy tore off huge chunks, slurping the cheese and laughing as her sister rolled her eyes at her. Nick could only watch in amusement.

"Dee, I don't know how you manage it, but you're a perfect combination of dork and lady," Charlotte commented, popping a pineapple chunk into her mouth afterward.

"I think she's just a dork," Nick said, chuckling as he placed his crust on his plate. He glanced at Judy, waiting for a reaction.

But she didn't say anything in reply, only stuffed her muzzle with more pizza.

"So what brings you to Zootopia, Miss Charlotte?" Nick questioned, leaning onto the table and focusing on the smaller bunny when he realized he wasn't going to get a rise out of his partner. "The poppin' night life? The gambling, maybe?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

Charlotte chuckled at his joke. "Unfortunately, no. My obstetrician back in Bunnyburrow recommended a specialist here…there were some previous complications with my pregnancy."

Nick blinked. "Oh. Well, I hope everything is alright."

"Yes, it's fine. The appointments I have here are just precautions, nothing more— but you can never be too careful."

Judy forced herself to swallow a mouthful of pizza, and wiped her lips with the back of her paw. "How long will you be staying, Lottie?"

Charlotte glanced at her sister over the rims of her glasses. "About a month, if things go well. The tumor has almost disappeared…so, in theory, everything _should_ be smooth sailing from here on out."

Nick tore his eyes away from his pizza and on the dark grey bunny, who was now rubbing her large stomach with a smile. "Tumor?" he asked, letting himself furrow his eyebrows a bit.

Charlotte gave a small, sad nod. "One of my boys has a brain tumor. It's pretty much gone and he's going to live, so everything will be fine."

"So you know you're going to have a boy?" Judy grinned, obviously ready to divert the conversation away from the tumor subject.

Charlotte immediately lit up, her fur glowing and brown eyes shining. "Two boys and a girl." She let out a soft, happy sigh. "I can hardly wait."

Judy laughed loudly, tearing another slice of pizza away from the pie at the center of the table. "At least you're not having ten to twelve like Mom does!"

"I know, thank goodness."

Nick nearly choked on a pineapple chunk. Ten to _twelve_ babies at a time? Holy cannoli.

"What about names, have you decided what you'll name them?" Judy asked, leaning on her elbow towards her sister as she stuffed the end of another slice into her mouth.

Charlotte cleared her throat and shifted politely. "I know I want to name one boy Matthew."

Judy blinked slowly. "…After Matt?"

A small nod. "Yeah."

"That's really great, Lottie. I love that."

Nick wondered whether or not he should ask who this _Matt_ fella was. Maybe a brother? Or a cousin? He glanced at Judy with a cocked eyebrow and she returned it with a shake of her head at his curiosity. The message was clear: _Don't ask, just eat your pizza._

But Charlotte must have realized this exchange, because she gave a somber chuckle. "Matt was my husband, Nick."

Nick cleared his throat, suddenly noticing how rude his curiosity must look. And to a relative of Judy's! _Nice going, Nick._ "Oh, well, I apologize. Divorce can be a sensitive topic, I realize that. Is Matthew a family name or something? Make your boy Matthew II?"

Charlotte glanced down at her pizza. "Um…he died."

 _Wait, hold on a sec. She just said that the baby wasn't going to—ohhh._ Nick felt his ears heat up rapidly at his mistake. _Great, Nick. You went and assumed that she got a divorce when her husband is_ dead. _Fantastic._ _You called her 'Miss Hopps' and everything._ "I'm…sorry. For your loss."

Judy sent him a death glare that could make the Devil himself shake in his boots.

Charlotte placed a paw over Judy's on the table and snickered at her. "Dee, dear. It's fine. It's not like I got pregnant all by myself; if I'm going to have my babies here, he'll know eventually."

"If you don't want to tell me what happened, that's fine," Nick mentioned before there would be an opportunity for tears and crying and sad vibes to take over. "Please, don't feel obligated to tell me anything."

Charlotte gave him a genuine smile. "How kind of you. No, I'll tell you; my therapist back home told me that bottling things up could be bad for myself and the babies."

"Lottie…" Judy intervened, gently placing a paw on her shoulder.

"Dee, babe, I'm _fine._ Chill."

Judy puffed out an indignant breath of air.

"Long story short," Charlotte began, facing the fox across from her, "Matt was a missionary. He was on a trip in Africa. A month into his trip, I found out I was pregnant; that same week, he contracted…" She swallowed. "…malaria…and he passed away a few days later."

Nick though Judy's brows might be permanently scrunched together from how much she was furrowing them; he tugged at his collar uncomfortably. "Oh…oh my God," he managed to breath. "I'm…so sorry for your loss."

Charlotte gave another small sigh, and patted her large belly fondly. "It's alright. I have these three boogers here, that's what matters. I'll keep Matt's last name for them, too; _Beveren_ is nice, don't you think?"

"Very nice, Lottie," Judy agreed, smiling reassuringly and rubbing her sister's shoulder with a paw. "It really is."

"Thanks, Dee." Charlotte leaned over to lay her head on Judy's shoulder for a moment, a form of a hug that she didn't have to twist uncomfortably for. "You're lovely."

Judy giggled gorgeously.

"So, answer another question for me, Charlotte m'dear," Nick intervened, pushing his plate to the side and wrapping a paw around his Coke. "Why do you call Judy 'Dee'?"

Charlotte giggled suddenly, and sent a glance to her sister; Judy wore a toothy grin. "Well," Charlotte began, "when I was little, I had a little trouble saying my j's. Not a speech impediment or anything, I just…" A light chuckle. "As a three-year-old, speaking was already difficult."

"She couldn't say the _Ju_ part of my name when I was born. Just the _dy._ So she called me Dee," Judy continued to explain.

"It stuck," Charlotte agreed, shrugging.

Nick chuckled, scratching the scruff on his neck with four claws. "I remember when I was small, there was this girl named Cassie—she was super annoying. She called me Lassie, because there was the _las_ sound at the end of _Nicholas_. She wanted our names to rhyme." He rolled his eyes. "It irritated the crap out of me. I complained to my mom about it regularly, and she…" He paused for a moment, clenching his sharp teeth together once he realized where this story was going.

Well, he had two options. Number one was to continue the story and pretend it wasn't a big deal, and two was to end it there and make things awkward.

After quickly weighing his options, he gave an amiable laugh that he was relieved to find sounded perfectly natural. He decided to concentrate the interested smile Charlotte was wearing and not on the confused twitch of Judy's nose. "She made sure to tell me to lock myself in my room when Cassie came to our house every week. Cassie would even try to come up the stairs to see me but Ma would stop her every time."

"Well, your mother seems like a lovely lady," Charlotte answered, her eyes warm.

"If lovely means _feisty_ , then definitely." The words flew out of his mouth before he knew it, and he immediately regretted elaborating on the subject of his mother, He suddenly felt extremely vulnerable.

Nick couldn't help but glance over at Judy; she had furrowed brows and stick-straight ears that told him her exact level of attention and worry.

 _Shit._ _Should have kept my stupid mouth shut._ Nick pulled at his collar nervously, unsure of what exactly to say to change the subject. He watched in horror as the two bunnies glanced at each other, their expressions wary.

Charlotte blinked, and tried to pretend not to notice the fox's discomfort. "What do you think would be some good advice for raising a son?" She questioned, balancing her chin on her two dainty paws. She giggled. "I mean, I am going to have two of them."

Nick knew she meant to change the subject, but it was still mother-related; he didn't want it mentioned at all. _Wow, I_ really _should have kept my mouth shut._ His instinct was to direct the conversation as far away from his mother as possible, and so he went with the first thing that popped into his mind. "Well, Miss Charlotte," he answered with his most suave coo, "there are quite a few things you'll have to know. Number one is very important: If we gotta pee, and we think it's a decent place to pee, we'll pee there."

Thankfully, the subject change seemed to work in its own odd way. Charlotte nodded like she was inwardly taking notes, but Judy wrinkled her nose before asking, "You mean, like on trees and stuff?"

"Yeah, that. And off bridges, in drainpipes, on the sides of buildings, on your neighbor's petunias…"

"That's disgusting," Judy wretched, sticking out her tongue in disgust. "Our brothers back home would do that stuff all the time. Dad would have to fight them away from the carrots and parsnips almost daily."

Nick shrugged. "That's boys. Heck, I still do it sometimes, if I need to."

"You _do?"_ Charlotte gasped, wrinkling her nose. He glasses shifted with the movement.

"Maybe it's a canine thing, but _I_ say when you gotta go, you gotta go. Who cares?"

"And _that,"_ Judy told Charlotte, pointing at the fox across from her, "is why I make him go to the bathroom before we hit the streets."

Charlotte glanced back at Nick, her brown eyes wide with a mix of wonder and horror. "So you're not _embarrassed_ to relieve yourself in front of other mammals?"

Nick gave her a snicker, and a sly wink, letting his smile curl in a way that he knew was a bit too coy to be appropriate. "No, Charlotte, my dear. I am not."

The look Judy gave Nick could wilt flowers. _"Nick."_ She knew exactly where this was going. It wasn't the first time they had had this conversation with someone. Charlotte was just watching obliviously through her glasses.

Nick only chuckled, and leaned toward Charlotte with one elbow. "Listen, Specks. When you're packin' heat, you can't be beat. If anything, _other_ mammals would be embarrassed by—"

" _Ooooooh_ -kay!" Judy interrupted, chortling awkwardly. Suddenly, Charlotte's shocked face was covered with the inside of Judy's furry paw. "Long story short, Nick was a hooligan when he was a kid and he's a hooligan now. Yayyy! Now let's _change the subject."_ Judy emphasized the last three words with a pointed glare at Nick's direction.

He couldn't help but chuckle as he pushed her paw out of the way. Man, if there was one thing he loved to do, it was teasing Judy Hopps. That was a good portion of the reason why he liked his job so much.

As an added plus, Charlotte's ears were a very deep shade of red—but she had a wide and amused smile on her face. "You must have been quite the mischievous little bugger when you were a kid," she giggled.

Judy rolled her eyes. "You kidding? He still is _now._ And he's thirty-two."

Nick didn't acknowledge Judy's comment. "I was a happy little squirt…but I loved my pranks, yes."

"You must have driven your poor mother crazy," Charlotte happily sighed, flopping her chin in her paws again.

He grew uncomfortable again, shifting slightly. _You have no idea._ "Well—" Before Nick could reply, his back pocket started blaring James Brown's _I Feel Good._

" _Whoa! I feel good…I knew that I would now…"_

Judy gave a light giggle as he pulled out his phone.

Nick felt his eyebrow raise at the caller ID. He pressed _answer._ "…Finnick?"

A large sniff rumbled over the receiver. _"Hey, Nicky. 'Sup?"_

"Why are you calling me? You need something?"

The fennec scoffed. _"What, you don't think I just wanna call up my old buddy?"_

Nick rolled his eyes and chuckled heartily. "Unless you want me to buy beer or some equally frivolous favor." Judy cocked her head nosily at him, and Nick waved to her as a way of saying _I'll tell you in a minute._

" _Can't deny that. Anyway, I need a tire. Helen's got a flat, I'm on the corner of Fifth and Everest in Tundratown."_

Nick scoffed at Finnick's ridiculous name for his vehicle. "You don't have a spare?"

" _The spare is on the damn van!"_

"You _live_ in a _van_ and you don't have a spare?" He gave a small chortle. "Man, not only do you look like a toddler—you have the _brain_ of one. That's rich."

A low growl. _"Nick, I will wring your stupid bastard throat. Just get your ass over here so I can go buy cigarettes."_

"You're gonna pay me back, right?"

" _Oh, of course. I couldn't deprive you of your honest dime."_ Finnick's low voice practically dripped with sarcasm.

But Nick knew Finnick would pay him back. The fennec hated being in someone else's debt. "Fine. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't get jumped or anything."

" _Thanks for the concern, I'll try my damn best."_ There was a continuous line of low grumbles before the line clicked and went dead.

Nick slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood, nodding to the two bunnies. "Well, ladies, it seems I must depart. Some tiny little mammal called for a strong, handsome fox to save the day."

Judy chuckled. "Have fun. Let's reschedule movie night, okay? Later this week or something."

"Whatever works," Nick replied, shrugging. He reached over to pick up the check, which was at the edge of the table. "I'll get this."

"Oh, you don't have to!" Charlotte intervened, reaching for her purse. "I can pay for my part—"

Nick held up a paw to silence her. "I insist. Think of it as a gift to introduce you to my lovely girl named Zootopia." He gave her a wide, coy smile.

Charlotte nodded warmly. "Thanks."

"Are you sure, Nick?" Judy asked, her ears lowering a little. Officially, it was her turn to pay, so she expected him to leave her the bill; but, despite popular assumption, Nick was _somewhat_ of a gentlemammal. At least, he liked to think so.

"Positive." He gave them a wave and headed to the cash register, where the teenage vixen employee impatiently waited for him with her usual starry-eyed drool. "You girls be careful going home, okay?"

"Definitely," Charlotte replied, sending a friendly wave. "It was so nice meeting you!"

Judy gave him a broad, grateful grin that made her eyes sparkle. "Thanks, Nick." It lit up the room.

He simply winked back at them; he knew his coy smile was adorned, his swagger in check, his paws in his pockets…but he couldn't help but feel a bit vulnerable. What was it about bunnies that made him feel like that?

He shrugged it off, and pulled out his wallet as he neared the cash register. _Hell if I know._

… … … … …

"What a nice fellow," Charlotte said to Judy as they watched Nick avoid further conversation with the smitten teenager behind the counter and slide out the door. "Odd, but nice."

"Things are never boring with Nick around," Judy commented in reply, taking a long sip of her watered-down Sprite. "We've been calling each other 'best friend' for the past month or so, so I guess I'm stuck with him."

"Is that a bad thing?" Charlotte giggled softly, rubbing her large stomach with one paw.

Judy shook her head. "Oh, no. Not at all. I love him to death, even if he _does_ purposely tease me." She suddenly felt redness rise to her cheeks and her ears. "Sorry about his perverse joke. The public peeing comment was bad enough already…"

Charlotte flipped her paw, as if to wave it off. "Oh stop it, Dee, it was hilarious."

"You're so innocent, Lottie, I could believe that you've never heard a bad joke in your life. You certainly didn't when we were kids."

She rolled her eyes and then looked at Judy pointedly. "Just because I was married to a missionary does _not_ mean I can't appreciate a good naughty joke once in a while."

"Be careful, then," Judy laughed. "Your babies' ears would be developed by now. You'll be a bad influence on them!"

"Perhaps when they understand English." Charlotte stabbed a pineapple on her plate with a fork, examining it for a moment. "But in all seriousness, I did like your partner. Thanks for letting me meet him."

"Oh, if anything, he should be honored to meet _you_ , Lottie. I'm just glad you didn't react to him the way Dad or Pop-pop would have."

Charlotte scoffed warmly as she chewed her pineapple. After she swallowed, she gave Judy a wide smile. "If I was skeptical about him at first, his stories about his childhood certainly warmed me up to him. I've been obsessed with those." She giggled. "Maybe it's because I'm about to be a mom."

Judy felt something tighten around her esophagus; she coughed. "Well, moms have been a bit of a sensitive subject for Nick lately." She rolled her eyes. "Actually, he refuses to make it a subject at all."

Charlotte cocked a thin eyebrow. "How so?"

Judy sighed and shrugged exasperatedly; she could feel her ears lower and press into her back. "Oh, I don't know. He'll briefly mention her and then quickly change the subject; when I ask him about it, he immediately disregards it. Lately, he's been so closed off, and when he _does_ open up he gets irritable and irrational."

"Well, Deedee, hanging out with you makes people feel like they need to open up." Charlotte rubbed Judy's forearm supportively. "Because you're so open about your emotions, even if you don't know what your emotions are. I'm sure being around you has had an effect on him."

"That makes me feel bad."

Charlotte shook her head swiftly, and leaned toward her sister. He brown eyes were warm, motherly. "No, no. You shouldn't feel bad."

Judy heaved a long sigh, pressing one paw into her eye. Guilt swung at her chest. "I'm just so _nosy_ sometimes, you know? I tried to force him to invite his mom to his graduation from the Academy—but now I see that it wasn't my place. Asking about his mom is inappropriate, I should leave him be."

"Well, do you know what his feelings for you asking are, exactly?"

Judy scoffed. "Ha! Of course not." She scratched the nape of her neck awkwardly, looking down at the crumb-scattered tile floor. "But his mom has been coming up in conversation more and more lately…it makes me think that he _has_ been thinking about her." Then she threw her paws exasperatedly. "Like, I found out the other day that he hasn't seen his mom probably in decades—I'm talking around _twenty years_. Why would he admit that if he wasn't thinking about it?"

Charlotte whimpered slightly, suddenly looking very guilty. "I'm sure I didn't help with that this evening, asking about his mother. I'm sorry…"

"No, don't say sorry, Lottie. I think it was a little good for him." Judy reached up to thumb at her ear in thought, pressing the thin membrane between her fingers.

Long eyelashes flitted. "You want my opinion, Dee?"

"Sure."

The slate grey bunny leaned back in her chair, rubbing her stomach and suddenly appearing a bit fatigued. "Some mammals tend to bottle up their emotions," she began, flashing her brown eyes over to her sister. "From what you're telling me, it seems like that's Nick's problem. Sometimes when mammals do that, they target others to avoid what's going on in their hearts. Maybe that's why he's irritable."

Judy blinked and nodded, remembering what has been happening the past couple of days, particularly around Agent Savage. "So…what do I do? Just let him work it out by himself?"

Charlotte shrugged. "Well, if it's his mother who's weighing on him, that's a sensitive topic. I won't tell you what to do…but I'll tell you your options."

"Okay."

"First is to do nothing and let him work it out by himself, which might be the more appropriate choice." She pushed her ears down behind her head, smoothing her fur as she spoke. "The second is this: if he's bottling up his emotions, you could help by…" she shrugged, "…loosening the lid a bit."

Judy hummed in thought and nodded. That made sense. Nick wasn't about to admit that he has been worried about his mom—it took him twenty years just to get out of being a conmammal.

"It may not be best to do that, though," Charlotte mentioned, interrupting her thoughts. "Pressing someone to feel or do anything isn't right. But on the flipside, once in a while, mammals need a bit of help. A slight nudge into the direction of happiness."

"Yeah…hm."

"But Dee, you can be a little overwhelming sometimes," Charlotte reminded her sister, putting a paw on her shoulder. "Just remember what your limits are. For lack of better words, you can't always be in control of everything—anything you've ever done has always been for an ultimate purpose. You always have a plan. Nick doesn't seem like a planner, so since this is about him…" she gave a shrug, "…maybe it's better to see where the wind takes this."

Judy nodded, losing herself deep in thought. Her hyperactive mind was already working out each possibility and each scenario, tossing around ideas and outcomes that may be good or bad. What should she say or do that would help Nick through this? Was this even a good time to talk about this, with the stress of the mission and Sam's misfortune?

Right then, Judy's phone vibrated on the table. When she looked, it was a text message from Bogo—she promptly opened it.

 _Packers' dead. Happened a couple hours ago. Make sure to go get his autopsy report._

… … … … …

Sam's left blazer pocket was buzzing.

Since his left paw was still holding Jessica's right hoof (and he had no intention of letting go), he warped his arm around the front of his torso to grab hold of his vibrating phone. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID.

 _Wilde Child_

He could feel his tangled heart loosen a bit as he raised the phone to his ear. "Hey, Wilde."

 _"Hey, kid,"_ Nick's low voice murmured through the receiver, sounding exceptionally less coy than usual. _"How are you holding up?"_

Sam shifted his tired eyes over to the doe lying in the hospital bed, eyes still closed and tubes still crisscrossed over her body. "I'm…okay."

 _"Bogo told me about your dad. You sure you're okay? Need me to go over there?"_

Sam breathed a sigh. "No, don't come. I'm fine. And I mean…yeah, I'm okay." He paused. "Well, I can't say I'm _not_ grieving, but… I'm also…"

 _"Relieved?"_ Nick finished.

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah…he won't be hurting me, or Jessica, or anyone else anymore." He glanced over to the bandages wrapped around Jessica's neck and chest, and he felt a simultaneous pang in his heart and stomach.

 _"When did he pass?"_

Sam glanced at his watch. "Three hours ago, I think."

 _"You don't seem to be in much shock."_

Sam paused for a moment, contemplating this statement. "I'm…not." He gave a watery chuckle that came from the base of his throat. "I mean, you'd think I would have a lot of trouble letting him go, but…"

 _"…but he hurt you. And your fiancée, for that matter. Who would blame you?"_

He allowed himself another chuckle. "He was…never really a dad, anyway. Even when Mom was still alive."

Nick's voice suddenly got fainter. _"Here's your tire, you lug. Now fork it over."_

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

 _"Oh_ , _uh,"_ he began to answer, clearing his throat distractedly. _"A buddy of mine needed me to grab him a spare tire, because he was too dumb to go buy another one."_

Sam could hear the low comment that was snapped back at Nick, and Sam chuckled. Nick laughed, too; it lightened the mood a bit.

There was a slight grunt, and then a shuffle. _"How's Jessica?"_

Sam glanced over to the doe in her hospital bed, who looked like an angel even with her bandages and oxygen mask. "The doctor says she's going to make it. She'll have scars, but…" He squeezed her hoof tightly. "She'll be fine."

 _"Well, thank God for modern medicine."_

Sam shifted in his seat; the phone felt hot on his ear. "I'm…sorry you didn't get to…interrogate him."

 _"Your dad?"_ A scoff. _"Kid, if you think that's why I'm upset, it's not. More opportunities will come, they always do with a drug ring like this. Always someone to nab and interrogate. It's you and Blondie I'm worried about."_

Sam snickered and glanced over at Jessica's mussed blonde bangs, the reason Nick gave her the nickname in the first place. She was going to live, to _survive,_ she was going to be fine, they were going to get married and start a life together and now _nothing_ was going to stop them from doing that. "Well, I think everything is going to be okay now…I hope."

Nick gave a _hm_ of agreement. _"Yeah, it will be. Expect Carrots to call in a few seconds—you know how she is. Take care, okay, kid? Call if you need anything."_

"Yeah, I will."

… … … … …

The next morning rolled in like an attempt at a comforting embrace; the air was crisp and fine, the sunlight draping over the tops of the suburban rooves like an orange wool blanket. But the morning air and the rising sun didn't help the nervous knot that wedged itself in Judy's throat as she stood at the bright yellow front door of 180 Red Orchard Lane. She hoped Clawhauser gave her the right address.

She was glad Bogo had given her the day off—otherwise, the only times she could have come were either late at night or early in the morning, and neither were appropriate. She glanced around the front porch; wind chimes hung from the rafters and tons of pots filled with brightly-colored flowers were lined up against the railing. A butterfly feeder hung nearby, and a few of the insects fluttered around it despite the cool morning that signaled impending winter cold. A tiny little garden lined a corner of the front yard, with vegetables and herbs poking up the last of their harvest for the season; it was neat, simple, and clean. Three things that Judy greatly appreciated.

She brushed at her plum sweater and ripped jeans, and then smoothed back the fur around her ears that had refused to cooperate with her brush this morning. Her eyelashes felt heavy with the bit of mascara she had applied, and the sports bra she wore suddenly felt way too tight around her chest.

This was a bad idea. Why was she doing this? It was stupid.

But she was going to do it anyway. She was already here.

Just as she took a deep breath of courage and raised her paw to ring the doorbell, her phone started to ring and vibrate against her butt. She sighed and reached into her back pocket to pull it out; the caller ID read _Jackson Russel._

She raised it to her ear. "Hello?"

 _"Miss Hopps. How are you this morning?"_ Jack's voice rung pleasantly through the receiver.

Judy glanced nervously at the door again. "I'm…fine, Mr. Russel. And yourself?" She knew this small talk was just a cover in case anyone was listening in on their conversation.

" _Excellent, thank you for asking. Officer Wilde and I are having a meeting to further discuss his finances, and it would be lovely if you could attend so I can ask you a few questions. Perhaps for consultation, as well."_

"Well, I…" Judy looked back toward the doorbell, thinking for a moment. "Yes, of course. Where and when is it?"

" _In an hour, at the place we discussed earlier this week. Can you make it?"_

"Yeah, I can."

" _Fantastic. I'll see you in an hour, Miss Hopps."_ There was a click, and then the dull ring of a dead line.

Judy sighed heavily, taking one last look around the porch before turning away from the door. _Welp,_ she told herself as walked back down the steps and to her borrowed cruiser. _Duty calls._

... … … … …

The mammal behind the door sighed in disappointment as the pretty little bunny returned to her strangely large car.

This mammal loved visitors, and hadn't had a new one in a while. Once she heard the familiar squeaking of her old metal gate being forced open, she went ahead and got up from her photo-sorting to wait at the door for a knock or the happy doorbell.

But there was none, not for several minutes. Was the girl down the street sneaking in to pick at her blooms again? She wouldn't be surprised, and conjured up a good scolding to give the little rascal.

However, when she pressed her eye to the peephole on her door, she didn't see the little ferret girl plucking flowers. Instead, she saw a soft grey rabbit, with a pleasant purple sweater that gave depth to her eyes; she was staring oddly at the doorbell, almost as if she was nervous.

 _How odd._ She continued to watch the bunny with piqued curiosity. _She looks familiar, too. Where have I seen her before?_

The bunny brushed anxiously at her clothes and flitted her eyes around the front yard, studying the potted tulips and herbs that had been placed on the porch as if they held the answers to her concerns. She brushed busily at her clothes. Then, when she _finally_ raised her paw and brought it to the doorbell, a faint sound pushed itself through the door; a pop song, from what it sounded like. With an almost relieved-yet-disappointed sigh, the would-be visitor pulled a cell phone from her pocket.

The bunny's voice, soft but assured, talked into the phone with what seemed like confusion. Then she hung up. She gazed longingly at the door for a few moments before retreating to the curb and out of sight of the peephole.

 _Huh,_ this mammal thought to herself. _Strange._ And with a shrug, she too retreated to her safe place: among her pictures and photos of treasured memories.

… … … … …

 **Hey, guys. Sorry about the long wait. School kicked my butt—I took a couple extra hours this semester AND decided to be an officer for a club, so I am/was stupidly busy…but I intend to see this thing to the end, so don't fret.**

 **There was also quite a bit of personal stuff happening that inhibited my ability to do anything besides work and school. :( I apologize.**

 **I know it's taking a while to get to the action part, but I promise it's coming. All this buildup is necessary to the development of relationships and blahblahblah. I hope the slight slowness is okay with you guys.**

 **Kudos to Hawktooth, for being my beta and being a big help with word choice and terminology (I know nothing about guns, haha). You're lovely, kid.** **Go check out his stories, guys, they're amazing.**


	7. When the Ball is in Your Court 101

**This will be a long (very, very long) chapter. Just a head's up.**

 **I've sort of realized that I haven't given Sam as much time as I would have liked the past couple chapters, so I intend to change that. He's pretty essential to the story, so I'm excited!**

 **And I had another oral surgery (I'm getting an implant. My last surgery was a bone graph and wisdom teeth removal, and this surgery they put the implant screw in). To make things worse, it had gotten infected. But I'm much better now and I'm here with a long chapter for you guys.** **Also, I started teaching an ESL class on top of school, so it's been a little bit crazy. I'm trying! Haha.**

 **Side note: I know NOTHING about biochemistry or biophysics. I am studying English and foreign language—I can barely do long division or explain how a prokaryotic cell is different from a eukaryotic cell. So please, if I made an error, know I did my very best to learn from my Google crash course on biochemistry.**

 **Guys, Hawktooth has this great story called Closed Doors—really worth the read. Go forth!**

 **Enjoy.**

… **.**

 **Chapter 7: When the Ball is in Your Court 101: Professor TBA**

The doctors were shocked at how quickly Jessica was recovering; her injuries had not gotten any infections, she was breathing well, and healing fast. She was still comatose, but it had been reported to Sam that she wouldn't be for much longer if she kept progressing the way she was.

Jessica was a health freak; had her own little herb and vegetable garden, had a kale-based smoothie every morning, exercised at least an hour a day. Sam used to tease her about it, but now he understood; Jessica had made her heart, muscles, and immune system very strong. Now that she was injured and in the hospital, her great health helped the doctors do their job of making her better.

The fact that Jessica was going to be fine, along with Nick and Judy's frequent phone calls and visits, was the only thing keeping Sam out of a bad mood. The expenses for his father's funeral was going to eat up his savings; he and Jessica would have to push back their wedding. Sam was still debating on whether or not to give a full funeral for his dad. Even if he didn't, the burial and headstone would cost quite a bit.

Sam was in the waiting room debating funeral options with Mr. Canusi of the Canusi Funeral Home, an aging wolf who looked like he too would need a casket and headstone soon. "Mr. Feral, I assure you," Mr. Canusi cooed in an eerily clear voice, "we have many headstone options that will fit your budget." He pointed to a binder in his lap, turned and displayed for Sam to see. "These stones are very nice, all under the price of—"

"What about cremation?" Sam interrupted, noticing the two-hundred to three-hundred-dollar price tags on the headstones. "How much does that cost?"

The old dog cocked a hairy eyebrow. "Two thousand dollars."

Sam nearly choked. "O-Oh. Uh, in that case…" He pointed to the least expensive headstone in the binder, a simple stone that costed one hundred and eighty dollars. "I'll take that one."

"Very good, sir. Would you like to go ahead and discuss casket options, as well?"

Sam suddenly noticed a large, dark, looming figure appear in the doorway behind Mr. Canusi. When he looked, he saw Chief Bogo with his solemn stare and hard-set jaw, standing patiently with his arms crossed.

Sam blinked a few times, and tried his best to focus back on the wolf in front of him. "Um…tomorrow. Come at two o'clock, if that's okay."

Mr. Canusi looked a little surprised, but he nodded and stood. "Very well, sir. Just know that we can't push off the planning much further."

"I know." Sam also stood, his butt sore and tingling from the poorly-cushioned chair. He adjusted the color of his tan-and-blue plaid flannel shirt. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Canusi. Thank you."

Mr. Canusi just nodded one more time, and slunk silently from the room.

Chief Bogo approached, his presenceyes huge and looming, and offered a massive hoof for Sam to shake. "I give my condolences for your loss."

Sam gave a slight _tch_ , and took the hoof. "You know as well as I do it's better this way." His paw looked miniscule in comparison to Bogo's huge digits.

A gruff _hm_ came in reply from the buffalo, which left Sam debating whether it was in agreement or disagreement of his comment. "I hear Miss Whitehall is improving."

Sam nodded and smiled, his mood improving immediately. "Yes, she is. She should be out of her coma any day now."

"And Hopps has told me that you'll be getting married. Congratulations."

The coyote chuckled, and scratched the scruff of his neck sheepishly. "Heh, yeah. Well, it may have to be pushed back some more because of Dad's funeral and what's going on with Jessica, but that will be okay."

Bogo nodded, and folded his intimidatingly giant arms. "Have Wilde and Hopps—or any of my officers, for that matter—informed you of what exactly is going on regarding your father and the attack?"

Sam's stomach suddenly didn't feel so good; he didn't know why, he hardly ate anything today. "No…not exactly."

Bogo's face suddenly melted into what could be interpreted as sympathy. "Good. They weren't supposed to." He motioned a hoof to the nearest two chairs, one massive chair and one smaller one. "Why don't we sit down? This could take a bit."

The nausea Sam was experiencing flashed; he followed Bogo to the chairs.

…..

Before Nick got his act together, he lived in quite a few different places. Hopped around for about fifteen years, never staying for long; but when he was twenty-eight, he finally settled down in the cellar of an old, half-constructed building in Downtown Zootopia.

This building was illegal to live in, of course, but the owner of the property was a young, rich, and slightly stupid jaguar lad who had inherited the property and didn't know what the heck to do with it. He never had it inspected or worked on further; Nick had no idea why the kid kept the building, but he did and never bothered with it once. This was advantageous for Nick, because it gave him a private and free space to live. There were even some communal showers and a laundromat down the street, which made it even better.

This would be the space where Jack, Judy and Nick would have their meeting.

Nick offered it because he knew that he had been a big butthead as of late, and unprofessional at the very least. He had jumped to conclusions and made a real ass of himself; he still didn't care for Jack, but he wanted to make it up to Judy. And, naturally, he wanted this mission to go smoothly.

Of course, he would never admit those things aloud. Nick intended to make things better as suavely and indirectly as possible. He just hoped they could get the mission over with soon so mammals would stop getting hurt—and, admittedly, he would be very relieved when Jack could return to the UMK.

After Nick trudged down the splintery, oh-so-familiar wooden stairs into the cellar he used to call home, he discovered that Jack was already present with his back to the entrance. He was leaning on Nick's old makeshift table (cinderblocks and a few layers of plywood), marking on some blueprints and muttering to himself. He typed something into a calculator, nodded his head, and made another note on a separate pad of paper.

Nick was about to announce his entry, when Jack waved a grey paw over his shoulder. "Hello, Officer Wilde. Come. We will discuss the mission while we wait for Miss Hopps to arrive."

Nick bit on his lower lip slightly, but approached the table anyway. He prepared himself for possible awkwardness, straightening his tie and taking a few deep breaths. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, scratching the fur under his chin in an attempt to act casual.

"Your footsteps are far apart, soft, and…laid back," Jack answered, peering down at the blueprints and writing something else onto his notepad. "Very easy to identify. Miss Hopps has a bouncier, faster pace. To be fair, though, this building does echo quite a bit, so footstep identification would be easy for anyone."

 _Tch._ Nick couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Jack waved him around to come stand on the opposite side of the table, flashing blue-grey eyes at the fox. "We have to talk, Officer. Come around where I can see you, if you don't mind."

Nick didn't like being ordered around, but he complied anyway; he knew refusing to listen would be childish. And, technically, Jack was the leader of the mission, so Nick forced his trap shut and walked around the table.

Jack sighed, unbuttoned the top button of his green flannel shirt, and placed his red pen amidst the mess of papers. "Wilde, I intend to make this mission go as easily and fluidly as I possibly can. This requires that I have the trust and respect of all of my team members."

Nick's throat twisted up. _Oh, great. I know where this is going._

"I know that you and I did not have the best of introductions. I also don't blame you for being skeptical of me," Jack continued, his eyes narrowing solemnly. "But it also doesn't take a genius to deduce that you don't particularly care for me, and—"

"I'm gonna go ahead and stop you right there, Stripes," Nick interrupted, waving a paw and chuckling slightly. "You don't have to worry about my cooperation. I want this drug to be eradicated just as much as you do. You've seen what it's done to Sam Feral and his fiancée."

"It's not _just_ your cooperation I'm worried about, Wilde," Jack countered, leaning onto his elbows. "It's your respect, and more importantly, your trust. I cannot lead effectively without my team fully trusting me."

Nick didn't reply. He just stood silently, holding back snappy responses he knew would not help anything.

Jack just stared the fox for a minute, before one of his eyebrows rose. "It's about Hopps, isn't it?"

Nick flashed what he knew was a glare at the agent. "Carrots has a good heart. A big heart. She's also a bit naïve, a bit too trusting. I'm just protecting her."

"From who? _Me?"_ Jack gave an amused chuckle. "What do I have to gain from deceiving her?"

"You're the spy, you tell me."

Jack gave him that glare again—the one from the elevator, when the two had first noticed one another. "I don't have to justify anything to you, Wilde. Your chief—your _boss—_ expects you to respect my leadership, and therefore so do I."

"I don't doubt your leadership, Stripes," Nick snapped back, an angry mass of flesh twisting in his belly. "I doubt your _intentions."_

Jack's glare suddenly morphed into realization; his eyebrows rose, his ears perked, his chin tipped upward. "Ohhh…so I _was_ correct _._ I didn't want to assume, but…"

Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Assume what?"

"Wilde, do you… _fancy_ Miss Hopps?"

Nick couldn't speak. There was something caught in his throat; he was pretty sure it was his heart, on account of how rapidly his esophagus pulsated.

The hare leaned forward, his expression suddenly becoming much more serious. "Miss Hopps is a lovely rabbit. But Officer Wilde, I assure you, my intentions with her are friendship-related at the very farthest. My line of work does not permit me to—"

"Whoa, whoa!" Nick interjected, swiping the air with his paw. "I… _don't!_ I don't like her that way. She's like, eight years younger than I am. She's…my _partner_ , my best friend. And she's…she's a…"

"Bunny?" Jack finished, folding his muscular arms. "Wilde, mammals can't help who they love. Denying it will only make things harder on you."

Nick shook his head. This was so much to process. "Okay, look. I don't like Carrots like that. I'm protective of her because she's my best friend, and quite frankly, the only family I have right now." The fox straightened his tie indignantly, and cleared his throat. "And even if I did like her in that way, it would never happen. She's way out of my league, let's be honest."

Jack chuckled, and shook his head. "Whatever you say. But either way, it's obvious that she's the chink in your armor, so let me assure you that I do not intend to advance Miss Hopps. She's a wonderful rabbit, but as I said, my line of work does not permit me to maintain romantic relationships."

Nick didn't let himself show it, but he was relieved. Of course he had thought of the possibility of Carrots and Jack eventually having a romantic relationship, especially since they seemed to get along so well; but the reason why he didn't want that is because he wanted Judy to always be his best friend, and he didn't want their friendship obscured by anyone else. And he _didn't_ have feelings for her.

Right?

"But back to the subject at hand," Jack continued, interrupting Nick's thoughts, "I expect to have your trust and your respect. I want this to be professional, and to go as smoothly as possible. Is that fair to ask, Wilde?"

Nick side, and rubbed the fur on the back of his neck pensively. "I…know I've been…skeptical. And a bit disrespectful. I apologize, it was childish of me. I also admit it was because of Carrots, and I realize that it was stupid to let personal things like that get in the way of work."

Jack raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"So…you have my respect." He gave a small sigh that did little to relieve the pressure on his chest. "And my trust."

There was a small moment of silence before Nick leaned over the table slightly; he could feel his lip unintentionally curl halfway into a snarl. "But let me assure _you_ of something, Stripes," Nick murmured, narrowing his eyes and pressing his claws into the pads of his paws. "If you deceive her, betray her, even so much as make her cry—I don't care how much training you have in however many martial arts styles," he snarled, his voice barely a whisper, "Words would never describe the depth of my wrath. You _will_ regret it. Capiche?"

Jack nodded, seemingly unfazed but totally immersed. "Duly noted."

"Peachy." Nick shifted back into his original position.

Jack blinked a few times before thrusting his paw over the table, giving the fox a friendly smile. "So, are we in agreement?"

Nick glanced at the paw, then back up at the hare. His face, usually hardened and serious, was relaxed—his stripes seemed less like war paint and more like cradles for the creases of his smile.

For the first time since he had met Jack, Nick appreciated him. As Nick took the hare's paw and shook, he decided that he _could_ respect this guy; they weren't so different, after all. He didn't know if Jack's claims of his true intentions with Carrots were honest, but at least now he and Jack were on the same page.

Of course, Nick didn't have to like him in order to respect him, but…maybe now he was more willing to _learn_ to like him.

On their second shake, Jack's ears twitched a bit. "Ah…bouncy and quick. Miss Hopps is here."

Nick snatched back his paw. It took a few seconds longer for Nick to be able to detect them, but eventually, Carrots' familiar footsteps reached his ears as well.

Then, her little frame came into view; she came down a few of the top steps, before blinking and giving them both a wide smile. "Afternoon, boys. I'm on time, aren't I?"

"Yes, Miss Hopps. Don't fret," Jack answered from in front of Nick, checking his watch. "Wilde and I were just early. Had some things to discuss."

Carrots looked particularly pretty today. She was wearing a deep purple sweater that Nick absolutely loved; it clung to her figure and complimented the soft grey of her fur. He subconsciously sniffed the air for the scent of freesia, but today he detected flowery lavender perfume instead; she also had on cute little silver hoops at the base of her ears that he had never seen before.

 _Did she go somewhere today?_ Nick's heart stopped for a good few seconds. _Was it a date?_

Judy raised an eyebrow. "What were you discussing?" she questioned as she made her way closer to the table.

"We just had to tie up a few loose ends before the meeting. No big deal." Jack gave her a wide smile.

Judy glanced over at Nick, her purple eyes seeking confirmation.

Nick noticed, after a few moments of studying her, that she was wearing a little bit of makeup. His stomach felt like it was caving in. _Oh God, it was a date._

Instead of revealing his curiosity and slight jealousy, Nick shrugged his shoulders and gave her his coy grin. "Stripes just really wanted some personal time with the Nickanator, I suppose. Who could blame him?"

Judy blinked a few times, then chuckled in relief. Her eyes crinkled cutely at the edges. "As long as there wasn't any bickering." She held up a large plastic bag, a picture of a happy dumpling dancing on the side. She smiled widely, revealing her large teeth. "I brought takeout! I figured this would take a while. Don't want to get hungry."

"Good call, Carrots." Nick waved her over. "Let's hope you didn't forget chopsticks."

With an enthusiastic flourish, she pulled three sets of cheap wooden chopsticks from the bag. "Of course not, that would be an atrocity," she sang proudly as she bounded happily over to the table. "Who eats Pawsian food with a fork?" She pushed some papers out of the way and plopped the bag on the table.

Jack chuckled, the sound almost shy. "It's been quite a while since I've had takeout."

"I'm sure you eat lots of exotic, amazing foods! You haven't had Pawsian lately?" Judy asked, pulling out boxes of what Nick assumed was lo mien or sticky white rice.

"I've had Pawsian, but only authentic cuisine. I spent a couple months in Taiwan recently." He chuckled again. "But I haven't had…you know, _takeout._ The English versions of Pawsian food."

"Too snooty to eat Americanized dumplings, Stripes?" Nick teased, half of him annoyed and the other half genuinely amused.

"Oh, no," Jack replied, gathering his papers and organizing them into a neat pile; he straightened the stack on its edge against the tabletop, _tack tack._ "I adore takeout. It's just been a while since I've gotten the opportunity to eat it. I maintain a very strict health diet while I'm on missions, and it's a rarity if I'm _not_ on a mission."

"Well you can cheat your diet just one time, right?" Judy chuckled as she opened a takeout box filled to the brim with seasoned broccoli and peppers; the aroma was intoxicating. She waved the box in front of Jack. His eyes followed the enticing movement for a few seconds.

He nodded, and swallowed almost nervously. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

Nick whistled. "You're truly living on the edge, Savage. An international spy _and_ you're willing to go over the recommended daily sodium limit." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Most impressive."

Jack only chuckled slightly, but Judy snorted with great amusement. "Oh, shove it, Nick!" she guffawed. "At least he watches what he eats! You inhale blueberry muffins by the pawful. I have to be there to slow you down, or else you'll become the stereotypical pudgy cop." She shoved a pair of chopsticks into Jack's paws.

"Those blueberry muffins we get at the café are _life,_ 're the reason I'm willing to get up at the buttcrack of dawn every morning," Nick replied sassily as he reached over to grab a pair of his own chopsticks; he went ahead and took some soy sauce packets, as well. In addition to blueberries, he also had an undeniable love for soy sauce-especially on white rice.

Judy cocked an eyebrow; Nick was _almost_ distracted by the way her eyes glittered. Almost. "So the reason you get up is for the blueberry muffins, but it's not to help the citizens of Zootopia?"

He snickered. "No, Fluff, that's why _you_ get up early every morning."

Nick expected another sassy comment, but she just rolled her eyes and gave that giggle that meant, _You're dumb as hell, Nick, but I love you._ He loved the meaning behind the giggle almost as much as he loved the giggle itself.

Then Nick felt a pair of eyes on him. He glanced over at the owner of these eyes; Jack was staring at the fox pointedly, one dark brow arched; the smug pull of his mouth was accompanied by a subtle, almost nonexistent chuckle that definitely said, _Are you sure you're being honest with yourself?_

Nick simply rolled his eyes, making it a point to be very casual with how he brushed off Jack's look. He quickly turned his attention to the food Judy was pulling out, and quickly reached for the teriyaki cabbage.

"Do you not eat bugs, Officer Wilde?" Jack asked, eyeing the many varieties of vegetables without a grasshopper or beetle in sight.

Nick shrugged. "No, I never really have."

"Why not?"

Nick stirred the teriyaki cabbage, spreading the sauce evenly and nicely. "My mom was a vegetarian—she was kind of insistent on defying the carnivore stereotype. So, I grew up a vegetarian too." He pushed the teriyaki cabbage toward Judy and picked up his chopsticks; he made sure not to look at her, though he felt her stare on him. "Been one ever since. Never really developed a taste for bugs."

Though Judy was obviously affected by Nick's explanation involving his mother, Jack was not. "Oh, I see," the hare replied, satisfied with the answer.

Nick swallowed a mouthful of cabbage. "And you can call me Nick, Stripes. None of that Officer stuff. It…" He paused for only a split second. "It gets old after a while."

A smile flickered around the corners of Jack's mouth. "Very well."

Nick didn't look up at Judy's face, but he was sure it was covered in pure amazement. He took another bite of cabbage.

"So, shall we start discussing the plan for the day of the wedding, then?" Jack asked, eager to get down to business.

And Nick, eager to direct the attention away from his change in attitude, nodded maybe a bit too quickly. "Yes, we should. Take it away, Stripes."

…

Sam blinked a few times; his brain, now overloaded with information, was struggling to process everything that Bogo had just revealed to him.

"So…this hasn't just happened to my dad," he finally muttered after a few moments.

Bogo shook his head, his expression as sympathetic as Bogo's expressions could be. "No. There are others."

There were no words that came to Sam's mouth. He silently watched a nurse pass by with a tray of medicine; a pretty doe. Though, in his opinion, this doe wasn't nearly as pretty as Jessica.

"I can't reveal every detail to you, obviously," Bogo continued from the corner of his eyes; Sam didn't face him quite yet. "But you deserved to know."

Sam nodded, a funny feeling rising in the pit of his chest. "And, this drug…you're investigating it, correct? Do you know what it is, what exactly it does?" He finally turned his gaze back to the gruff buffalo; Bogo sat with his elbows on his knees, a mixture of frustration and sympathy swirling in his eyes.

"Yes, we're investigating it…but we haven't gotten very far." Bogo's reply was under his breath, as if he didn't want mammals around them to hear. "We don't know much about it. In fact…" He cleared his throat. "…we know hardly anything at all."

Sam blinked. "Why is that?"

Bogo let out a small puff of air from his massive nostrils, his face stone. "I'm not obligated to say."

"Oh." _Right, police confidentiality and all that._ "So, why are you telling me all this?"

The chief didn't answer immediately. Instead, he simply looked at the coyote silently; his dark eyes were brooding and furtive, examining Sam as if he was trying to decide the best way to reply to the question. Sam had always been a little scared of Bogo, but in this particular moment, the buffalo seemed almost vulnerable. It strangely made Same feel more comfortable.

Finally, Bogo spoke. His voice was low, raspy. "Because I want you to know that you're not alone," he whispered, his brows furrowing slightly. "That there are victims just like you and Jessica, fighting to make their lives normal again. I want you to know that the ZPD _will_ find the distributors of the drug."

"Are Wilde and Judy on the case?"

Bogo blinked. "No."

Sam's heart fell. "Why not? You know they could do it. They're the best."

"We have other capable officers, Mr. Feral. Currently, Officer Wilde and Officer Hopps are caught up in another extremely important case."

Sam didn't reply; he knew that Judy and Nick could wipe it out in an instant, if only they were given the chance. But he knew it wasn't his place to say so.

Bogo leaned forward again, as if it would emphasize his words. "I also need you to not speak a word of this to anyone," he warned Sam. "Not a soul, not even Jessica."

Of course Sam wanted to tell Jessica, but with some luck, he won't have to. Hopefully, the ZPD will find out the source of the drug ring and the success will speak for itself.

Sam nodded in agreement, realizing the severity of the situation when he saw Bogo's intense stare. "Okay," he agreed. His heart suddenly began beating with the ferocity of an angry bass drum. "Okay, not a soul."

…

Judy was, once again, hesitating as she stared at the bright yellow color of the front door at 180 Red Orchard Lane. It practically burned her eyes.

It was raining that day, and she was both thankful and disappointed for the covered front porch; if she was standing out in the storm, maybe she would have more gumption to ring the doorbell and introduce herself.

Everything in her being told her that this was a stupid idea. She would have marched right in ten minutes earlier, if not for the nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her, _You shouldn't do this, he'll be so angry, he'll never forgive you._

But her gut told her this was the right thing. Usually, her gut was right.

Her finger once again hovered over the doorbell; it antagonized her, as did the voice in her head, and she fought both running away and barging in. She still didn't know what to do, she still didn't truly know if this was the right thing, but she had to do it, for him, for her best friend—

What happened next was a blur. The door flung open faster than Judy could say _parsnips,_ and the rabbit herself immediately jumped away and into a defensive stance, more out of habit than out of feeling threatened. Judy's heard was fluttering like an irate bird, and she had to take a few deep breaths to slow down the sound of it in her ears.

"Oh, my goodness, I could hardly _stand_ it!" the vixen in the doorway exclaimed, holding a dainty paw to her abdomen in excitement. "You were just _standing_ there, my dear, out in the rainy weather and I couldn't wait another second."

Judy blinked. "I, uh—I—"

The older fox's amber eyes glowed with amusement as she gave a little twinkly laugh and raised an eyebrow. "You here to sell magazine subscriptions? I love _Home and Gardens._ If you're a Jehovah's Witness, I'm not interested; I'll give you some cookies to take to your friends, though, if you'd like."

"No, I—"

"I hope you like white chocolate macadamia," she interrupted again. "You need something to warm your belly, especially with this dreary rain—"

"No!" Judy exclaimed, less out of anger and more wanting to be able to get a word out. "No, I'm here to…" she glanced into the doorway, suddenly hearing broken music floating from inside the house.

Past the shoulder of the older fox, down the hallway and into a far room, Judy spotted a piano. On the bench sat a young bobcat, no more than six or seven years out, picking out an old nursery rhyme tune on the keys. He paused for a moment to peer at the sheet music in front of him with extreme concentration, and then continued to force out the tune, which sounded akin to something along the lines of _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star._

"…I'm here to inquire about piano lessons," Judy finished. As soon as the words came out, she regretted saying them.

But the aging vixen blinked, and then broke into a huge smile; her canine teeth, worn but shining like pearls, didn't seem menacing at all. Maybe Judy was just used to it by now. "Oh! Why didn't you say so before, darling?" she giggled, her eyes like warm honey. "I'm just finishing this lesson with little Bobby. Let me get him packed up; let yourself in, dear, get out of the rain." And with a flourish of her floral skirt, she glided back into the lesson room to bring the bobcat to a halt on his practice and give him some sugar-coated pointers.

Judy delicately stepped into the house and closed the door behind her, not hesitating to glance around at the décor; everything was slightly scuffed with age, but meticulously clean. There were potted flowers and plants everywhere, ranging from desert cacti to tropical hibiscus to exotic orchids; on the walls, there were framed posters of Broadway shows and vocal jazz crooners like Billie Howliday, Billy Elkstine, and of course, Frank Swinatra. And despite the fact that this vixen was older, there was not a doily or cross-stich in sight; it was quite refreshing for Judy.

The small bobcat boy was shouldering a pack and fiddling with an umbrella as he passed, smiling shyly at Judy. While the vixen fussed with papers by the piano, the bobcat leaned over to Judy and asked, "You're Officer Hopps, aren't you?"

Judy just chuckled and winked at the young cat. He grinned gleefully, and turned to bound out the door both in embarrassment and excitement.

"Bye, Bobby! Be safe walking home!" the vixen cried out to him as he disappeared into rain with his little blue umbrella. "Don't forget to practice your scales!"

The bobcat waved politely and rushed toward the sidewalk, probably eager to either get out of the rain or to tell his parents of who he had seen at his piano teacher's house.

Judy couldn't help but smile. She was very happy to have the ability to inspire young mammals.

The fox rushed over to close the door and lock it, breathing a deep sigh of relief when the sound of rain and thunder was muffled by the wood of the door. "It is horrendous outside," she puffed, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow.

"It is pretty nasty," Judy agreed lamely.

"I don't prefer rain," the vixen continued, turning to the rabbit and gazing at her with the same honey-rimmed eyes. "I love listening to it while I drink hot tea and read Jane Pawsten, but not much else." Suddenly, she gave a great laugh, touching pads of her paws to her chest. "Oh, listen to me ramble! I haven't even introduced myself yet. How rude of me!"

"No, not at all," Judy replied, giving the vixen a smile. It was hard not to be happy around her; or at least, it was hard not to feign happiness. No one could ever want to disturb the feeling that emanated from this vixen—it would be an atrocity.

The older fox enthusiastically thrust out her paw for a shake; her fur was not quite crimson, more of a soft red-orange. "I'm Kathleen Wilde, darling," she said to the bunny, giving a sweet smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilde," Judy replied, taking the delicate paw and shaking it.

The older mammal gave an exaggerated _pfft._ "Oh, please. Just call me Kathleen. You make me sound a hundred years old. What did you say your same was?"

"Judy Hopps."

Her thin eyebrows raised. _"The_ Judy Hopps? Oh, what a pleasure and honor to have you in my home!" Kathleen's eyes sparkled like chunks of amber; she was quite pretty for her age. "I knew you looked familiar."

Judy, slightly uncomfortable but flattered, forced a smile that she hoped looked genuine. "Thank you for having me here. What beautiful plants and flowers you have!"

Kathleen chuckled and waved the comment off. "Oh, it's just a silly hobby of mine. Nothing of importance, really."

"I _love_ plants, though," the bunny mentioned, looking around fondly at the varied flora. "I grew up on a farm, plant husbandry was a huge thing around there."

"How interesting!" Kathleen grinned, apparently happy that someone shared her affinity for plants. "They're very therapeutic for me. Fortunately, I have quite the green thumb." The vixen waved her over motioning to an adjoining room. "Go sit in the den, I'll get us something to drink. Tea? Coffee? Lemonade?"

"A hot tea would be great, thanks."

Kathleen nodded curtly. "I agree, with how forlorn it is outside. It will warm our souls. Go and sit wherever you'd like, I'll put it on for us."

…

Judy had settled into a massive, olive green wing-backed chair that was more comfortable than it looked. She listened to the soft humming and clinking of dishes as Kathleen prepared the beverages for them; she also didn't hesitate to glance around the room and soak in her surroundings.

The piano Bobby had practiced at was sitting at the corner of the room, rid of dust but scuffed from years of love; there was a lot of space around the instrument, as if the area was waiting to be occupied by something. Many more plants were scattered about the room, with some large ferns pushed into corners and cacti lining the windowsills. The furniture was an older style, ranging in colors from dusty pinks to deep blues, leaving the room without a particular color scheme. There were more framed posters of old movies and vocal artists; but the one that stood out immediately to Judy was a small, chipped picture of a young vixen, the old photograph sitting on the side table next to her chair. She was beautiful, adorned in a sequined, scarlet-red dress that left _just_ enough to the avid male fox imagination. She had beautiful, sultry eyes and a secretive smile, and stood in front of an old-fashioned microphone, the kind that was made of clunky, shiny metal. The vixen was in a dark room, with strobe lights setting fire to her fur and her dress; she seemed to be addressing a crowd. The coloring of the picture was faded slightly—Judy couldn't tell the color of her eyes, and she could barely see the red of her lips.

"Ah, you spotted my photograph," an amused voice chuckled, interrupting Judy's thoughts. Judy glanced up to see the fox setting down a tray with two mugs and a teapot; the air was filled with an earthy herbal scent.

"Excuse me," Judy said awkwardly, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I didn't mean to intrude…"

"Oh, no, dear, you're fine," Kathleen brushed off, giving her a soft smile and settling into a nearby loveseat of bright purple. She picked up the frame and gazed at it for a moment; not longingly, but instead with fondness. "This was me in my singing days, when I worked for a bar called _Raterson's_ in Downtown Zootopia."

"You sang?" Judy asked with piqued curiosity. She knew she probably shouldn't dig for information, but she couldn't help it. She was a naturally nosy bunny.

Kathleen gave a sweet laugh. "Oh, yes. My stage name was _Kathleen Deveraux_. I sang there for about three years; it was an experience, truly one of a kind."

"What was your real name?"

"Kathleen Jones." She scoffed playfully. "Sounded like a suburban mother name, I couldn't let myself be known as _that_. I'm so glad I got married to John, my surname is much more interesting now."

Again, Judy's curiosity piqued. "John?"

"John Wilde, my husband. He died some years ago." A bit of sadness crept into her voice, and she reached for her mug; it was covered in a fantastically colorful paisley pattern. "He was a good mammal, a trustworthy one. Really defied all expectations folks had for foxes." She took a sip of her tea, and gave a hearty laugh. "But you would know all about defying expectations, wouldn't you, Officer Hopps?!"

Judy gave a giggle in return, slightly embarrassed but accepting of the praise. "Just trying to do my part in this world, that's all."

Judy was very excited, and was having a hard time containing this excitement. Not ten minutes into the conversation, Nick's mother was revealing things about Nick's father that Judy had been dying to hear for as long as she had known her friend. And putting a face and a name to Nick's mother was equally as exciting for her; she knew she probably shouldn't be doing this, but she was concerned for Nick's long-term well-being…and, to be honest, she had been itching to know more for a long time. Finally, her itch was getting scratched.

"How admirable," Kathleen replied; she gave a great, sad sigh, and gently put the fram back onto the table. "I suppose a singer in a bar doesn't do much more for the world than give something to distract mammals from their troubles. Now that I look back on it, it wasn't the music that did it for them, either. That job was a great experience, don't get me wrong, but at times it was utterly humiliating; you would be surprised how many drunk businessmammals tried to convince me to go home with them." She scoffed, and shook her head. "I walked in a naïve girl, ready to sing for the world, and walked out three years later a changed fox. I liked everything about that job except for the late-night patrons."

"That's really disappointing." Judy picked up her own mug and took a sip, her eyes never leaving the vixen sitting across from her. She was engrossed with this vixen, hanging onto every word.

Kathleen nodded. "Yes, a crying shame. After a few sad words with the barkeep and one too many rounds of scotch on the rocks or tonic and gin, they would turn their attention towards the vixen singing onstage."

Judy blinked, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "How crass."

The fox laughed, her cheeks pulling in amusement. "That's one way to put it. You would be surprised how many straight-laced predators, or even prey, would coo at a vixen after a few drinks, whether she was the same species or not." She paused for a moment, then giggled fondly. "Though, I can't say I'm too upset that those things happened. It was how John and I met."

Judy was taking a sip of her tea when Kathleen said this; when she processed the comment, she lowered her cup in surprise and curiosity. "Did he…coo at you?"

"Oh my, no. Quite the opposite." The vixen gave another soft, tinkly giggle. It sounded like the wind chimes out on her front porch. "This conversation has deviated very much from piano, hasn't it?"

…

Kathleen had fled from the stage to her dressing room, holding her favorite red dress together as best she could. It was torn, ruined; it had split at her side, revealing her slip and lack of brassiere beneath.

She had started crying out there. She hated that she had cried, especially when she looked in the mirror and saw the mascara sliding down her cheeks; her lipstick was smeared, with a little smudged on her teeth in the frenzy.

Kathleen tried to inspect the damage through her tears, running her claws over the loose threads and dangling sequins; she had spent a lot of money on this dress, had turned many tables in dilapidated restaurants to scrape together enough coins to pay for it. It was the signature aspect of her, the flashy red gown with the slit up the leg that made her feel like she truly was star material.

And now it was destroyed. Just like her career, which resorted to singing to old drunk males and trying not to breathe in too much cigarette smoke.

"Dammit," she cursed through her tears, running her eyes across her vanity for a safety pin and finding none. She plopped onto a nearby ottoman; her voice was nasally, shaky. "M-Maybe I can fix it…"

There was a slow, deliberate knock on her dressing room door.

It must be her boss. "I-I'm so sorry, Mr. Raterson, please just give me a few moments to compose myself…"

"May I come in?" a male voice murmured through the door, much too loud and deep to be Raterson's.

It was probably one of Mr. Raterson's other employees, maybe a server or something. "No, I…please, I just need to be alone."

"But I can help you." The door creaked open, only a few inches.

Kathleen puffed some air from her nostrils; the _nerve._ "I said _no."_

Despite her warning, the door was pushed open anyway. On the other side was a fox; handsome, green-eyed, and very well-dressed, with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a newsboy cap settled between two long ears. She recognized him as a frequent patron; he had been coming weekly for almost two years, always sitting at the bar and occasionally sneaking glances at her performance. Every time, no matter what, he always slipped a nice tip into her jar at the base of the stage. He said once to her, even after he had nursed a few beers, "Your voice is beautiful." Not one obscene word came from his mouth. Kathleen had always thought of him as cute yet mysterious, and looked forward each week to the day that he would come in and listen quietly instead of whoop and holler like all the other males did after 9 o'clock.

But in this moment, Kathleen didn't give two shits about what kind of tips he gave, whether he was cute or mysterious; he was in her dressing room _without permission._ She gasped, taken aback by the nerve of the mammal. She fisted the rip going down her dress so none of her body was exposed the way it was onstage. " _Excuse_ me, sir, but this is a private dressing room! I don't need to be attacked a second time tonight. I can call Mr. Raterson _right now_ to get his guards to haul you out, I'm warning you!"

The fox stepped toward her only once, his eyes wide and mouth pressed into a firm line; Kathleen couldn't read his expression, which only made her more frightened.

She snatched a hairbrush off her vanity and chucked it at him with a grunt; it hit him on the shoulder, a nice _thwack_ resonating through the room. He winced and gasped aloud, taken aback at the sudden impact, but took another step forward anyway.

For Kathleen, the next part was a blur. She was throwing things; perfume bottles, pillows, fur curlers, anything she could get her hands on. She didn't know whether she was hitting this fox or not, but she was determined to at least send the right message.

The next thing Kathleen knew, this fox was holding both of her arms and she was trying her best to thrash at him, snapping at him with her teeth and struggling to pull her paws away so she could sock him one good time in the jaw. He was saying something, but she couldn't hear him over the blood rushing in her ears.

She kept trying to flail her arms, but eventually the fox's strength overcame her own and her flailing slowed; finally, she caught a few of the words that came out of his mouth.

"…not here to hurt you, Kathleen, I'm here to _help_ you, I promise—"

"How could you help me?!" she insisted, more tears sifting into her eyes. _Shit, don't cry._ "I don't need help, I need to get _out_ of this place, I need to find a better job that won't have damn _skunks_ climbing up on stage and trying to rip off my dress—"

 _"Kathleen._ " She paused and looked him in the eyes; they were an intense green, cradled by dark shadows of fatigue. His nose was only inches from hers. "Kathleen, I'm a tailor. I can fix your dress."

She sniffed; tears began to slide down the already-wet fur of her cheeks. "I don't…I don't have much money, I can't afford a tailor." She suddenly felt her dress hanging open at her side without her holding it together. She hoped that nothing sensitive could be seen.

This fox wasn't looking down at her dress, however. He was looking straight into her eyes, his brows furrowed with sympathy. He let go of one of her wrists to wipe some mascara from her left cheek. "You think I'm gonna charge you after what just happened?" His voice was smooth; she could tell he was charismatic. He chuckled. "No no, my dear. I wouldn't want you to throw out that beautiful thing; I can patch it up, no problem. Just needs some tender loving care."

Kathleen blinked, taken aback by his words. She wasn't entirely sure if he was only talking about the dress. "I…don't need your pity," she murmured lamely, still trying to keep together the remnants of her dignity.

His smile deteriorated at the words; he looked worried. "You think I pity you?"

"…Yes."

He scoffed playfully. "After an episode like that, the only one I pity is the skunk. He obviously leads a very sad life if the only action he'll get is sexually harassing the first pretty mammal he can find."

Kathleen only sniffed and looked away.

The grip on her right wrist lessened, shifting into just a gentle pressure. "So why don't you go change, and I'll see what I can do to help you?"

She didn't hesitate to use this opportunity to snatch her paws away from his. "How should I know you're actually a tailor, and not just some creep trying to get me naked?" she insisted, flashing him her absolute best death glare.

He paused for only a moment before reaching into his messenger bag and pulling something out, a flat piece of paper pinched between his claws. When he showed it to her, she had to take a second to register what it was: a business card.

She peered at the card through her tears: it read in looping script, _Suit-topia: Need a suit? Suit-topia welcomes you!_

Kathleen sent him an indignant look, one that said _You could have picked up this card anywhere._

He shrugged, and took the card back. "You can either choose to believe me, or you won't. But I'm here to help you." He slipped the card into the breast pocket of his pressed button-up shirt.

The words were strangely soft and careful; it was then that Kathleen glanced past him and noticed he had deliberately left the door to the dressing room wide open.

Her heart softened, just a little.

Kathleen hesitated, but begrudgingly stood from her ottoman and quickly slipped behind a nearby room divider without uttering a single word, holding the ripped part of her dress firmly against her body.

As she began to change into her street clothes, she heard the soft voice of the fox sift through the thin bamboo of the divider. "When you've changed out of the dress, toss it to me so I can look at the tear." After a second, he added a pointed "Please".

She slipped on her skirt with one paw and threw the dress over the divider with the other, not entirely sure how she felt about what was happening at that moment. A part of her felt suspicious; the other felt grateful.

There was a shuffle of fabric and the tinkling of sequins, and then a slight _hm._ "It's only torn at the seam. Easy fix, no problem a-tall."

Kathleen breathed a light sigh of relief. She really did love that dress.

When she was finished buttoning her blouse, she carefully peeked around the divider before deciding to take a step out; he was sitting on the floor, his messenger bag slumped against him on the carpet and the dress draped over his legs in a shimmer of scarlet. In his paw was something that looked like a leather wallet; though, when he opened it, Kathleen noticed the glint of needles and pins lined up neatly inside.

Kathleen's wariness heightened when she saw him also pull out a spool of red thread. "So, you _just_ so happen to have red thread handy?"

The fox didn't seem to take offense to the comment; instead, he laughed. Kathleen thought sound was amiable and endearing. "I'm a tailor who is always prepared, as dorky as it may seem. I never know when my high-paying customers will want to make a last-minute house call." He took the end of the thread and slid it between his lips, a very practiced action that was foreign and somewhat interesting to Kathleen.

Kathleen suddenly felt guilty. Here he was, trying to help her, and all she was doing was giving him grief.

She sighed, and trudged across the plush carpet to open a closet; inside were a few scuffed folding chairs. "Let me get you a chair…I'm sure it's difficult working on the floor," she murmured to him, reaching in to grab one.

He looked up at her; he had just finished pinning the seam on her dress together. "Oh, no, please. This is perfect, it provides more space."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, scratching the fur beneath his cap with one claw. "Oh, yes. I'm positive, darlin', thanks." He gave her a wide, coy smile; his green eyes shimmered.

Kathleen just blinked silently in reply, and closed the closet door back. After a few moments, she gathered up the courage to walk over to her ottoman and sit next to him, watching him push the first stitch through the fabric and pull the base of the tear together.

She watched him sew only five stitches before she could hardly handle the silence anymore. "I…thank you, sir."

The fox chuckled, glancing up at her for only a few seconds before returning his gaze to him work. "No need to thank me, Kathleen. And no need to call me sir, either, I'm not an old man quite yet."

Kathleen allowed herself a small, soft laugh, smoothing out her skirt in her lap nervously. "I also apologize for my attitude. It's…been quite the eventful night, to say the least."

"I would say so," he agreed, pulling the thread taught. A coy smirk flickered over his muzzle. "First you get attacked onstage by some hammered, horny skunk, and the next this weird-but-handsome fox turns up in your dressing room, claiming to be able to save the day."

"Well, you _have_ saved the day, to be fair."

"You give me too much credit." He gave her a gentle smile.

Kathleen shifted uncomfortably. It felt sort of surreal, this regular patron she had always wondered about, in her dressing room repairing her dress and _not_ trying to make a move on her. It was a little awkward, to say the least, but she was grateful that he was here.

"Er…sorry I chucked things at you," she murmured lamely.

The fox scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. "Darlin', I do _not_ blame you. After what just happened? No, you had reason to do that. I could have been another creep trying to harass you."

"But you aren't." Kathleen smiled at him.

His eyes flicked to her face what seemed like for half of a second before he returned them to his work. "Heh, no, I'm not." He rolled his shoulder back and touched it gingerly, careful not to poke himself with the needle. "Though, your throw is impressive. I won't be surprised if I have a hairbrush-shaped bruise in the morning. Ever think about playing baseball?"

"I would," Kathleen bantered back, "but, you know, I have to reserve my throwing arm for chucking things at weird foxes that come into my dressing room. Just in case."

He paused his sewing to snicker at her. "Sly girl."

She couldn't help but giggle.

There was a few minutes of silence; it was a little uncomfortable for Kathleen, but not unpleasant. She debated whether or not to offer him a refreshment (though all she had was water), but the question never seemed to reach her lips; instead, she watched him work. He didn't seem concentrated or strained at all; Kathleen watched her dress slowly transform back into what it was before, sequins still hanging haphazardly…she was just happy it was looking somewhat normal again.

Kathleen's eyes shifted from the dress in his hands to his face. He was handsome, to be sure; even more handsome up close than over twenty feet away, which was the distance at which she was accustomed to seeing him. He had pensive green eyes and an angular face; when he flashed his crooked smile, it revealed a coy and clever side to him that Kathleen had never witnessed.

"Why tailoring?" Kathleen asked him; she question had been burning at her lips for a while.

The fox laughed softly, and sent her a swift glance. "What do you mean?" His voice was rimmed with a teasing chuckle, as if he knew what she meant but wanted to embarrass her.

Kathleen felt a slight flush on her cheeks, and was thankful for her fur's color. "Well, er, you don't quite strike me as a sewing kinda guy."

"My dear, do you think I'm an old lady? You make me sound as if I'm into cross-stitching and knitting, too."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Well…are you?"

He laughed again, louder this time; there was that coy smirk again. It was attractive. "As long as you have the money, I'll do anything." He noticed Kathleen's eyebrow raising further, and gave her a pointed stare. "That has to do with _tailoring."_

"Yeah, oh-kay." She giggled and he rolled his eyes.

"So, why _singing?"_ he pressed her, picking out a much smaller sewing needle from his kit. His eyes flashed back up at her; he did have really pretty eyes. "And at this bar? You're too good to stay here, you need to go apply to the Palm Hotel in Sahara Square, baby. That's where the good bars are at. You could sing at weddings, too."

Kathleen sighed, longing tugging at her heart. "If only…" she murmured; then blinked as she shook herself back to reality. "But I have a good job here, a dependable one. Demand for singers just isn't so high right now, even if you can play the piano—"

"You're a pianist?" the fox asked suddenly, looking up from re-stitching a sequin in surprise.

Kathleen nodded timidly. "Yes."

"Wow. Beautiful _and_ talented. How long have you been playing?"

She blushed, and was once again thankful for her fur. "Since I was four…my mother thought music was an essential part to a child's education."

He nodded in agreement. "Understandably. I can't imagine why those high-end bars aren't throwing offers at you, being a singer _and_ a pianist."

Sighing, Kathleen hung her head slightly and replied, "Because of aesthetic. It looks more appealing to have a male playing the piano while a pretty female sings, rather than a female doing both…and it doesn't help that I'm a fox." She rolled her eyes and groaned. "I'm a female _and_ a fox. Every employer, whether they be prey or pred, constantly assume I'm trying to be some kind of sexual deviant trying to seduce or con them out of money. I have to dress like a nun to be taken seriously."

The fox said nothing. He just studied her for a moment, looking disgruntled and angry for her.

Kathleen nodded at his reaction. "Exactly! What's more, they don't want a vixen as a singer because it doesn't _'appeal well to patrons and customers'._ Mammals are so prejudiced, they won't go to a bar with a vixen singer. It doesn't help that burlesque houses are stereotyped to be centered around vixens, so every time a high-end bar hires a vixen to sing, they lose lots of money because all of the arrogant, prejudiced mammals insist the club is turning into a burlesque house just because _one_ honest vixen singer is hired. It's absolutely ridiculous."

He raised an eyebrow. "That seemed like it came from a place of bitterness."

Kathleen sighed, a weight placing itself upon her shoulders. "And guilt, to be completely transparent." She focused on her paws, which were now wringing the end of her cotton skirt together in stress. "Before Raterson's, I…did get a job in Sahara Square. This really pretty little club called _Joanna's._ Maybe you've heard of it?"

The fox nodded, still focused on his work. "Yes, I've been there a few times. Expensive."

"Yes, very high-end, the like. The owner, Joanna Xiong, was this sweet old panda from China who was very excited to take me on. After a while of me singing, her regular patrons stopped returning." Sorrow suddenly tugged at Kathleen's heart. _The poor woman._ "Unbeknownst to Joanna, rumors were circling that it was going to be made into a fancy burlesque house."

He sniffed loudly, glancing up from his work at the shag carpet he was sitting on as if he just had a realization and was tossing it around in his head. "I heard those rumors, I think. One of my clients talked about it."

"Did you believe them?"

"Oh no!" he insisted, looking up at her with an expression of something like desperation. "No, no. I've gone to that bar before, I met Joanna…I made a few suits for her husband, bless his departed soul." He shook his head, as if disappointed. "I couldn't believe it when I heard it. Most of the time, my clients aren't as prejudiced as most—I mean, they hired a _fox,_ and you know how mammals talk about us—but sometimes, shit would come out of their mouths and it was all I could do not to walk out."

Kathleen nodded, a pang of realization hitting her in the chest. "I bet it's hard to get work…I know it's hard for me."

"It's ridiculous," the fox agreed, stitching another sequin with practiced fingers. "At the start of my career, I had to disguise myself just to get by. Thank goodness I've made connections in high places, because I wouldn't have been able to get by otherwise."

"Connections?" Kathleen asked, leaning forward in curiosity.

The fox noticed he had gotten her attention and sniggered. "Oh, yes. A certain little fellow in Tundratown pays good money in exchange for the suits he and his…employees wear."

"In Tundratown? Is he a bussinessmammal?"

"Of a sort," he answered, chuckling at her interest. "He owns a limousine rental company."

Kathleen blinked, and gave a great smile to him. "Ah, how wonderful! I'm so proud that you've managed to get so far."

"Me too." He secured the last sequin, pulling the thread taught and pressing the miniature reflective disc down into the fabric. "There, darlin'. Good as new." He snipped the thread and held it up for her to examine; his eyes were in stark contrast to the dress, green against red that strangely reminded Kathleen of Christmas.

She reached out to finger the part of the garment that had been ripped, to see that she could see no damage at all; it looked practically brand-new. Like it never happened.

"Wow," she breathed, taking the dress from him to get a closer look. "It's…so much better, sir."

"Don't call me sir," he said in reply, but it didn't have a single ounce of animosity. Instead, it was gentle, amused. He gave her another crooked smile and flicked his nose toward the room divider. "Go try it on, make sure it fits."

Kathleen didn't hesitate; she was in and out in a flash, hurriedly trying not to waste her time with this gentlemammal. He was probably going to leave soon, and to be honest, she didn't really want him to.

When she approached him after changing, he looked over her with concentration. He leaned in close to her side where the tear was, assessing and inspecting his work; Kathleen knew he probably meant nothing by the closeness, but her heart beat fast anyway.

"It should hold up nicely," he commented, straightening up and giving her another smile. His eyes did this thing where one crinkled and the other didn't, and Kathleen thought it was particularly attractive.

"I don't know how to thank you," she finally managed, forcing herself not to stutter.

"Don't thank me, Kat. It's my pleasure." He looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "I can call you Kat, right?"

"Of course," Kathleen responded, and she felt a grin rise up to her face. Then, a blush. She usually hated it when people called her Kat, but for some reason, she liked it when it came out of his mouth. "Does this mean…"

"We can see each other again? I was just about to ask that." The fox laughed, and Kathleen couldn't help but giggle back. "I'm glad you mentioned it and not me, it would have taken everything in me."

"I don't know, you seem pretty brave. You _did_ just walk straight into a vixen's dressing room."

His face softened. "Well…you needed help. I felt like all the comfort you've brought me the past couple years with your voice should be returned. I saw it as an opportunity to use my gifts to help you the way you've helped me."

Kathleen cocked an eyebrow at his and folded her arms, partly indignant and partly teasing. "I find that hard to believe. You didn't come for the beer at all?"

"No. Just Kat and her music."

The answer was so assured and straightforward; it made Kathleen blush more. She didn't know what to say.

 _Strangely, I'm thankful that that skunk came up onstage and ripped my dress._

He held out his left paw for her to shake; it was rugged-looking for a tailor, exposing years of hard work that probably came before the start of his tailoring business. "I'm John," he said, giving her a wide smile; this one wasn't as coy as the others were.

Suddenly, Kathleen felt very stupid for not asking his name earlier. "Nice to meet you, John," she said, quickly returning the pawshake. "And, hopefully, this won't be the first time we meet?" It was more of a question than a statement.

The fox named John reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the same business card he had tried to offer her earlier; this time, though, Kathleen took it. "My phone number is on the back," he told her. "Maybe we can get coffee or lunch or something."

Kathleen held the card close to her chest, but didn't look at it quite yet. "Oh, yes. That would be great." She chuckled. "My only request is that we don't go to a bar, because no offense, I'm sick of those."

John chuckled too, but louder than she did. His eyes sparkled again. "Understandably. I'll let you call me, I have a pretty flexible schedule this week. I know you work a lot here."

"Yes, I do. I'll be sure to give you a call."

They said their goodbyes; John called her _Kat_ at least two more times. Kathleen may or may not have given him a small kiss on the cheek, and John may or may not have grinned like an idiot. Well, hell, they were _both_ grinning like idiots, to be real.

When John tipped his cap to her a final time and closed the door behind him, Kathleen sighed; more out of emotional exhaustion than anything else. Getting sexually harassed and getting romantically involved in the same hour didn't happen often to Kathleen. She had to have a moment to process.

Turns out, this moment was more than five minutes for Kathleen. She just stood at the door, clutching that business card to her chest; it wasn't until Mr. Raterson came knocking on the door to tell her to meet him in his office that she finally looked at the card.

The front showed the name of his shop, logo, and catchphrase of his shop—all of which Kathleen thought was adorably dorky—but she flipped it over and read the back.

 _Johnathan Augustus Wilde_

 _Tailor, Couturier, Repairmammal of Textiles_

There was a phone number beneath his description; it was all Kathleen could do to not pick up the phone right then, just so she could hear his voice.

…

Nick was halfway through an episode of _Friends_ and a third of the way through a bowl of microwave ramen when he got the emergency call.

Bogo sounded almost breathless—which was practically panic when it came to this particular Chief—and the buffalo went on to say they had another predator go savage in Tundratown, and he needed all officers on deck that weren't already given an assignment.

"To handle the crowd, the like. I expect you to haul ass over here, because it's chaos."

So now Nick was adorned with a tranquilizer pistol and bulletproof vest, weaving through Tundratown traffic, lights blazing and sirens blaring—he was doing just what Bogo told him to do. Hauling ass.

As he pulled up to the crime scene, there were already three ambulances and four cop cars; the fire department was even there, for precautions most likely. There was caution tape everywhere, officers running back and forth, talking hurriedly with firefighters and EMTs. In the midst of the throngs of murmuring mammals and flashing lights of reporter's cameras, Nick spotted Grizzoli and another unfamiliar elephant cop holding back what looked to be a failing blur of white fur. There was a cop bagging what Nick recognized as a pair of crushed glasses—they probably belonged to the assailant.

Nick hopped from his cruiser into the cold air and slammed his door, finally spotting Bogo amongst the confusion and jogging up to him. "Chief! Need help?"

Bogo glanced over at him, and snorted. A large puff of frozen mist ascended from his nostrils. "About time, Wilde! Where's Hopps?"

"Here!" a familiar voice affirmed; Nick glanced behind him to find Judy running up behind him, in black leggings and a bulletproof vest. She was in the process of attaching her tranq gun to her hip.

A flash of concern went through Nick. She wasn't wearing her ZPD-issued coat, and she was pretty prone to getting cold fast.

"Good," Bogo huffed, obviously not concerned with her lack of winter wear. "I need you two to do some crowd control. It's hard to get this polar bear detained, and the flashing cameras and crowds of mammals aren't helping."

"So back them off? Send them away?" Judy asked, straightening her vest. She was ready to jump to work.

Bogo shrugged, glancing back at the roaring polar bear, who was snapping his huge jaws at Grizzoli. "Just…whatever you can, I don't care. We need to get this damn bear in an armored truck or something." He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just _please_ don't shoot anybody. That's the last thing I need right now."

"Uh, Chief," Nick mentioned, scratching the fur on his neck.

 _"What,_ Wilde?"

"Should, uh, should we call Stripes?"

Bogo didn't take long to realize the connection. Nick knew that was a clever name to say in public; they had a Lieutenant with the last name _Stripes._ Any eavesdroppers would be none the wiser.

Bogo blinked, his face unshifting. "Just worry about crowd control."

"Yes sir," the two said in unison, and the buffalo stormed away to deal a large group of enthusiastic reporters.

Nick glanced over at Judy; he was still concerned about her lack of jacket, and was about to ask her about it. Instead, he felt a smirk form on his face. "Let's hope you don't become a bunny popsicle, that polar bear would swallow you up in no time." A wave of an extremely familiar, earthy scent hit Nick's sensitive nostrils as he stepped closer to her…it smelled kind of like the tea that hipsters drink in coffee shops.

"Ha ha," Judy retorted, and stuck out her tongue at him. With that, she started off toward a throng of nosy onlookers; and with a smirk, Nick followed, wondering why Judy was drinking that tea and where she had gotten it from.

…

After dealing with the reporters (which was basically him saying "No comment," over and over again), Bogo turned away and lifted up a line of caution tape to enter the crime scene again; he went to a more isolated corner, lined with two cop cars; their drivers were assigned with communicating with the firefighters.

He pulled a phone from his pocket. A disposable one, $19.99 at a pawn shop. He flipped it open and punched in a slightly unfamiliar number.

There were only two rings before the other line was picked up. _"Nothing serious, I hope, Chief? Another savage predator friend?"_

Bogo, not bothering to wonder how the agent on the other line knew it was him. "Yes, unfortunately."

 _"Bloody hell."_

"I figured you'd want to see it for yourself."

There was a smacking of lips as Jack realized what Bogo was referencing to. _"Ah, video feed. Yes. I'm establishing the connection as we speak; I assume you have the button camera I gave you?"_

"Of course."

 _"Bee's knees. I'll have Damon eradicate our conversation."_

…

It wasn't a high-pitched scream when Nick heard it; more like a yelp, low and full of shock.

Nick and Judy were busy holding back onlookers who kept yelling questions and assumptions at them, all getting closer and closer to the caution tape; they didn't have time to focus on the polar bear, or who was holding the polar bear back. But when they heard the wail, they knew it was bad news.

The mammals in the crowd saw what happened before Nick and Judy did. They suddenly grew silent, their eyes wide and jaws slack; some immediately started running while others stood stock-still in astonishment.

Nick ran his eyes over the crowd, and then turned to find the source of the wail. "What's happeni—"

"Nick, _look!"_

He heard Judy's exclamation and saw her pointing, and when he looked, there was the polar bear; Grizzoli was slumped in the snow behind him and cradling his arm, which was covered in blood. The other elephant cop was looking confused, as if wondering whether or not to try to approach and detain the polar bear by himself.

Bogo was screaming orders: "Hold your fire! Protect civilians!" Officers were rushing as efficiently as they could around the expanse of the scene, doing their best to send the crowd running in the right direction and to form a protective wall between the crowd and the bear simultaneously.

Nick couldn't see the polar bear well from this distance, but he could see that he was crouched low, his stomach skimming the top of the snow. There were glints of hungry light where his eyes should have been; his muzzle was rimmed with blood and pieces of dark brown fur, and a low growl Nick couldn't quite hear trembled the bear's black-and-red lips. He wore torn denim jeans and a light blue polo shirt, the kind gas station employees wear; it looked like it had been tie-dyed with crimson.

But the bear wasn't looking at the officers, most of which were large mammals. He was focusing on the crowd; his glare was pointed at the smaller mammals. It followed a sheep. A pig. A hare with his three kits. It was as if it was indecisive, unsure of its next move. It sniffed the air, it's black nose taking in the smell of fear and frozen sweat, the same smell that wafted into Nick's nose. So much fear.

That's when Nick realized; his heart flew into his throat. "Carrots, the polar bear, it's checking out prey, we—" he looked to wear she was standing before, and she wasn't there. Nausea hit him with the realization that he couldn't see her, he didn't know where she was, and he was kicking himself for not paying better attention—

Turns out, she was one step ahead of Nick, and Nick didn't know if he considered that a good thing. Nick finally spotted her sprinting straight for the polar bear, kicking up snow that flew high above her pressed ears.

A couple of officers around Nick raised their tranq guns, ready to shoot the bear; Nick flew his arms out to stop them. "Are you crazy?! You could hit a _civilian_ , you idiots!" _Or Carrots._

"Oh. Uh, right." Nick didn't know who said that, and it didn't matter. He was watching Judy skid to a halt right beside the bear.

 _What in the hell is she doing?!_ Nick knew that the sudden approach of a lot of mammals would only antagonize the bear, so he kept his distance until he knew that Judy couldn't control the situation anymore— _whatever_ she was trying to do.

The polar bear had broken through the caution tape and was approaching a gazelle and her son, who were both pinned against the wall of a nearby building. The gazelle, a middle-aged female cradling her son to her chest, was rapidly whispering into the ear of the little gazelle while he sobbed frightfully into her shoulder. Most of the officers in that area who weren't controlling the crowd had their tranquilizer pistols pointed at the bear, but there were so many running bodies it was very likely that one of the darts could hit a civilian, which wasn't desirable.

Judy was closer to the bear than any of the other cops, and she still had her gun holstered. Nick watched with horror as she took a few steps closer.

Nick made a split-second decision. "Don't shoot _anyone!_ Just get civilians away!" he shouted at the other officers around him, who were already in the process, but the instruction seemed to make them more efficient and sure of what they were doing. They waved mammals away from the scene, screaming instructions and pulling back stragglers when they were running in the wrong direction.

Nick was sprinting toward Judy and the bear, about halfway there when Judy had put herself right smack in front of the gazelles.

Bogo must have been rushing towards the scene, as well, because Nick heard him yell, "Don't do anything stupid, Hopps!"

But it was too late. The bear, who was growing increasingly frightening the closer that Nick drew near, was now engrossed with the bunny; his dark, beady eyes were fully focused on her, looking her up and down, judging her as if in preparation for something. Judy was motioning behind her back for the gazelles to run away; after a few seconds, they finally got the message and fled straight to a pair of cops waiting to attend to them. They were both wailing with relief.

Nick screeched to a halt, the pads of his hind paws practically frozen. He was about ten feet away from Judy, and so was the bear. "Carrots, listen…" he called to her, his voice shaky. "Don't make any sudden movements, okay?" She was distracting the bear, using herself as bait to protect the prey mammals in the area. A stellar cop, willing to sacrifice her life, but Nick wasn't too fond of that thought no matter how noble it was. "Don't make him angry."

Judy didn't look at Nick. She was fully concentrated on the bear, who was getting closer and closer to her, step by step. He was snarling, a hot mixture of saliva and blood dribbling from his mouth onto the snow. "I would recommend a heavier tranquilizer, Chief Bogo," Judy said out of the side of her mouth, her voice low and strangely calm. She was crouched in a low stance, inching backward towards the building where the gazelles were only moments before; her ears were perfectly erect. She was getting ready to run.

"You heard her!" Bogo whispered sharply to some officers nearby; Nick didn't know who, he was too concentrated on the stand-off between the bear and Judy.

But then, someone was pushing a tranquilizer sniper into his hands; it was Officer Pakakubwa, a smaller lion with a distinct African accent. "You are the best shot on the force, Officer Wilde," the lion whispered to him, his brown eyes wide. There was a slight pat on Nick's back as an awkward _good luck._

Nick nodded; he didn't have time to feel good about that statement. As soon as he raised the the weapon to his shoulder, there was a puff of snow and a snarl of anger; Nick watched through the sight of his gun as the polar bear leaped toward Judy, and almost simultaneously Judy sprinted to her right, the opposite of where the cops were directing the panicked crowds.

Nick couldn't shoot right then. He might hit Judy; the tranquilizer would, at best, put her in a coma. So instead, he slung the gun around his back, secured the strap against his torso and immediately began to sprint in that direction. Nick knew that a soon as the bear realized he wasn't sinking his claws into a rabbit, he would chase after Judy as well.

Nick was right. As soon as the bear saw which direction she had gone, he was after her. Nick could hear voices behind him, the crackling of pounding hooves on snow, but they were too far behind to worry about at that moment.

It wasn't until Nick watched Judy disappear into the white-covered trees of the Tundratown Central Park woods that he realized what she was doing. She was leading the bear to somewhere where there wouldn't be a lot of civilians, where Nick could shoot without worry that he could hit someone.

She was smart. Too smart, at times.

So Nick ran as fast as he could, keeping a firm eye on the rear of the bear, who clearly very wanted to get back at Judy for _something._ That's when he remembered the puff of snow right before the bear leapt at her; she must have thrown a snowball at him. Stupid bunny.

Nick had just jumped through an ice-covered bush when the walkie-talkie at his hip beeped. _"Nick!"_ the walkie screamed, the voice breathless and almost covered with background noise. _"Nick, do you read?!"_

His lungs were burning. His feet were burning. His legs were burning. He grabbed the radio and pressed down the button, swinging the gun back around to his front as he saw the bear slow a little. "Yeah. Quite…quite the mess you've gotten us in, Carrots!" Even he couldn't believe he managed sass right then.

There was a huff over the line. _"Shut up. Listen, I-I don't know where…to go from here! I…can't run forever, I'm…not_ that _good."_ She was heaving breaths, probably more out of fear at this point that exertion.

"Well, h…he can't run forever, either. Just keep going, I'll…I have a sniper."

 _"Best shot…on the force…"_

He knew what she was trying to say. He fastened the walkie at his side again, ignoring the static, and swiftly positioned himself on a nearby icy rock; he had not taken his eye off the bear the whole time. He could not see where Judy was, which was good—it meant she was probably out of his range.

He brought the sight to his eye, aimed, and fired. At the last half a second, the bear veered off to left and the dart struck a tree where the predator once was.

"Dammit!" he pinned the sniper to his side and sprinted off toward the bear again. Nick could hear his snarls, smelled Grizzoli's blood on his muzzle. But the smell was getting fainter, which means the bear was getting farther away. He had to make up for lost ground, and fast.

…

Judy had no idea where she was going.

She supposed that her legs would be hurting if they weren't completely numb from the cold. So, at least she didn't have that to worry about.

What she did have to worry about was this rabid bear chasing after her, and inching closer and closer with every passing minute.

Judy had taken out her tranq pistol and shot one or two darts at him, only for the polar bear to swing out of the way; when she was looking over her shoulder at him in shock, she could have _sworn_ he had sneered at her in between snarls.

She could hear his breathing. His huffing. The growls in the base of his throat.

They were _all_ she could hear.

 _Oh God, I gotta find a way to lose him._

But right when she thought that, she ran straight up to a cliff; it was a small one, probably caused by a fault and a small landslide, but it was still too tall for her to jump and too long for her to dart around.

She was stuck.

Now, Judy didn't give up. She assessed, pressing herself against the icy rock as she scrambled to form another plan in her head; she watched the bear draw closer and closer to her, and with every passing second it seemed like a lost cause.

Then the bear was only feet away. He only paused to glare at her for a few seconds, but those seconds seemed like a million years; the blood on his fur had frozen and was edged with snow, his lips curling and hot misty breath pooling from his mouth in frozen clouds. He was so big, so large compared to Judy; she didn't know that something so large could seem so agile. Usually bears tended to be a bit clumsy, but this one—crouched in the snow with the thin slits of his eyes and the rippling of his muscles—seemed as graceful as a leopard.

Judy didn't realize that the bear had slashed at her with his long claws until the last second, and she just barely evaded the hit. Yet another slash, a close evade. _Where in cheese's sake is Nick?_

The two did that for a while; the bear would snap his jaws at her, and Judy would manage to jump out of the way. Judy kept trying to dart to the side in an attempt to get around him, and he would always give a wide swipe to keep her from going in that direction. As this continued, the more and more Judy thought, _I have to counter his attacks. One swift kick to the nose, that's all I need._

So every time the bear would take a bite of air at her, she would deliver a powerful kick to the head. It only made him angrier, and lose control of his swings; every time he would take a swipe with his claws, Judy would move out of the way just right so he would hit his paw against the icy, unforgiving rock behind her. He would scream in pain, and would only get more enraged.

Judy kept trying to kick him square in the nose, because bears' noses were sensitive and she knew it would debilitate him; but he kept thrusting his head out of the way, almost like he knew what she was trying to do. It amazed Judy, because it seemed to her like he was super-conscious of every move she made, but not to the environment around him.

Judy had just missed his nose and nailed the bear one good time in the shoulder when she spotted a familiar red blot on the snow, approaching rapidly.

 _Nick!_ Relief flushed through her. For only a split second she took her eyes of the bear to focus on Nick; there he was, sprinting as fast as he could toward them, tranq sniper in one hand and walkie-talkie in the other. He was practically yelling into it, probably letting Bogo know their location.

Giving in to the distraction was a mistake, even if it was only for a split second. She felt three lines of fire run diagonally across her side where her vest didn't protect, and she hissed in pain; the bear had scratched her one good time, and she could already feel the sticky heat of blood start to pool around her open wounds.

"Dammit all to hell!" The faint exclamation wasn't her; it was Nick. He must have seen it happen.

She quickly pressed her paw against the scratches and looked at the bear just in time to see him stretch his jaw wide and let out a huge roar.

A pang of fear went through Judy. _He must smell my blood. He's only going to get more out of control from here._

Nick must have figured that too, because almost immediately, she heard a sharp _thwap;_ a dart had implanted itself into the cliff only feet above her, right where the growling head of the bear had been seconds before.

The bear didn't notice the dart. Instead, he took another swing at Judy, which she dodged; and despite the growing pain in the side, she managed to deliver a jumping axe kick to the bottom of his jaw. It was not as powerful as Judy would have liked, but it still disoriented the bear for a moment, just enough time for Nick to take another shot.

There was a _thwap_ and a puff of snow where Nick's dart missed the bear's thick leg. Judy knew the fact that he kept missing was not because of Nick's lack of competence with firearms, it was because the bear almost seemed to anticipate each shot Nick was going to make; it was eerie, considering the bear was not dodging Judy's kicks very well.

 _"Dammit!_ Hang in there, Carrots!"

She was trying, she really was.

….

Bogo and the others hadn't showed up yet. That wasn't good, considering they really could use the extra mammalpower; Nick and Judy needed them there _now._

After Nick's fourth missed shot—which he was definitely kicking himself over—he checked the magazine. One dart left. He knew he had more in his smaller tranquilizer pistol, but they didn't have the same amount of tranquilizer that his sniper had; the sniper's tranquilizer could subdue the bear in only a few seconds, whereas he would need three of the pistol darts to subdue him in the same amount of time. He quickly established his pistol as the backup plan.

He raised the sight of the sniper to his eyes one last time, and watched Judy deliver a beautiful thrust kick right to the bear's chest. He could see her blood start to drip onto the snow; he could smell it, too.

He exhaled slowly. He forced himself not to focus on Judy, but on the bear; as if they were the only two things in the world. He focused the crosshairs of the sight on the leg, which seemed pretty stationary as he tried to keep his balance from Judy's powerful kicks.

With Nick's next exhale, he squeezed the trigger.

He watched the dart implant itself perfectly in the side of the bear's thigh.

 _Yes!_ Nick tore the sniper away from his shoulder and watched with anticipation. _He'll fall down any moment, we can get Judy to the hospital, and everything will be okay…_

But the bear didn't fall. He didn't even sway. He kept swiping at Judy with his bloodied claws, letting out growls of fury every time he missed; Judy sent Nick a wide-eyed stare of purple fear.

"Why isn't it working?!" she yelled to him, countering a slash with a kick to the bear's knee; it didn't do much damage, but it did make the bear give a great roar.

"I have no idea!" he yelled back. "Hold on, I'll think of something!"

"No, Nick! Stay back!"

He barely heard her. He was quickly establishing a strategy in his mind. _Okay, I have no more heavy tranquilizer. I don't know how effective my pistol tranquilizer will be; I may need to hit him two or three times. And the range on these pistols is horrible, especially in comparison to the sniper…_

Then Nick looked at the long, heavy gun in his hand; with the other hand, he touched the pistol at his hip. When he looked up, he watched Judy give yet another beautiful, powerful kick to the bear's side.

Then he got a crazy idea, and decided to go with it.

Immediately when he made his decision, he started to sprint towards the bear's back. He didn't get rid of his sniper, despite its lack of ammunition; instead, he kept his paw wrapped around the base of the barrel.

The bear was so focused on Judy, he didn't notice the fox's approach; however, Judy did. "Get back, I don't want you hurt too!" she snapped at him, her arm still wrapped around her bloodied side.

"Just trust me!" He sped up as he approached the bear's back, his hind paws pounding into the snow; he wasn't even thinking about the cold anymore. He swung the strap of his sniper over his shoulder, and with every step the gun bounced against his back.

When Nick was only feet behind the bear, he leapt from the snow and sent himself soaring toward the bear's back; Nick's body hit against his spine, sending a wave of nausea through the fox. Nick ignored it and grabbed onto fistfuls of the polar bear's mud-smeared white fur.

Now he had the bear's attention. The bear finally took his focus away from Judy and roared, reaching around his head to hopefully tag the fox on his back with his claws; instead, he only slashed his left shoulder. He let out a poisonous, hissing roar of pain.

"Nick, what are you _doing?!"_ Judy exclaimed. Nick couldn't see her; the world was in blurs around him.

Nick didn't answer. He just tried to ignore the bear's thrashes, and prayed that his sniper was still slung around his shoulder; when he checked, he found it was. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

Nick forced himself to pull himself up onto the bear's shoulders; it was difficult, because the bear was trying his best to knock the fox off by tossing his body back and forth. In one movement, Nick took one paw and pulled the sniper from off his shoulder and around the bear's massive neck; he grabbed the opposite end of the barrel with his other paw, and using the bear's neck as leverage, pulled as hard as he could.

The bear's roaring was cut off when Nick pressed the sniper against his windpipe; immediately, he went from trying to claw at the fox to trying to claw at the gun closing his throat, his movements becoming less deliberate and more out of desperation. He pushed up on his hand paws, his roars coming out more like sputters as he frantically tried to throw Nick off his shoulders.

"Carrots!" Nick called, taking his focus off of the bear and to the ground where he knew the bunny was probably watching in shock. "Carrots, get your pistol!"

He found her a second after that request left his lips, though, and he realized that she was, as usual, one step ahead. She already had her pistol raised and pointed at the bear, one eye closed and concentrated; she kept changing where she aimed with the movement of the predator.

"Nick, I can't get a good shot! I might shoot you!" she cried, never once lowering her gun.

"Don't worry about that, just shoot!" At this point, Nick didn't care; chances needed to be taken. This bear was too dangerous to be let loose, and he was tired of his head getting thrashed around; his neck was starting to hurt.

"Nick, I'm not—Oh, screw it!" Nick watched in horror as Judy refastened her pistol into her holster.

He repositioned his grip on the sniper; his paws were getting sweaty despite the cold. "Carrots, what the hell are you doing?!"

"Just trust me!" Nick found her at the base of the cliff; her paw was off her side, and he could see the blood spreading. She didn't look perturbed by her wound, though; she was crouched low, as if ready to jump. "Can you turn his head this way?"

"I'll…ugh! I'll try!" Nick pulled heavily with his left arm, leaning his body in the same direction with a long grunt.

At first, the bear's head didn't follow the motion; but eventually, his desperation for air became too great. With a strangled, choked gasp and three great steps on his massive hind legs, the bear unknowingly turned his body toward the waiting rabbit.

"Okay, hold him still!"

Nick didn't have to hold him still for long, though (like it was even possible for him to do that). With her powerful, bunny-grade legs, Judy leapt from the snow and rebounded off the side of the icy cliff, her eyes narrowed and flashing—she looked terrifying. The next thing Nick knew, the bear's head was jolted to the side with a spine-tingling _crack_ and a shower of blood flew into the air.

The impact was so great, it pushed the sniper out of Nick's paws and sent it skittering across the muddied snow. With the ability to breath came the ability to roar, and the bear wailed in pain; within a split second, both Nick and the bear were plummeting to the ground. Fortunately, Nick hit the ground first and had just enough time to roll out of the way before the bear squashed him into the snow like a frozen blueberry pancake.

Nick's head hurt like hell; he must have hit it on a rock or something when he had fallen from the bear's shoulders. Still laying in frozen slush, feeling wetness seep into his clothes, he closed his eyes and pressed a paw gingerly to his head; he felt a hot and sticky substance sneak past his paw pads.

"Nick!" exclaimed a voice; when he opened his eyes, he saw Judy crouched over him. Her eyes were wide and heartbreakingly purple. She lost the look she wore earlier, when she kicked the bear in the nose—the one that made her look more intimidating than anyone Nick had ever seen. She wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, pulling him up into a sitting position. "Are you alright?!"

"Yeah…yeah, I'll be fine." Though his stomach said otherwise, he stood with shaky legs and looked over to the debilitated bear.

It wasn't a pretty sight. The polar bear was wailing in pain, writhing in the snow with blood dripping down either side of his face; his nose was bent grossly to the side, reddened bone spearing through his black skin.

Nick couldn't help but be impressed. Judy's kicks were nothing to scoff at, that was for sure.

Without skipping a beat, Nick pulled his pistol from its holster, aimed it at the bear, and squeezed the trigger three times; one two three, _fwip fwip fwip._ It took only a few seconds for the tranquilizer to take effect, slowing and eventually stopping the bear's pained thrashes.

Nick stared at the bear for a few moments, letting himself breathe a sigh of relief. _Finally._

Judy sighed too; Nick couldn't see her expression, but in his peripheral vision, he watched her slump tiredly. "Those darts worked."

"The other one must have been a dud." Nick couldn't bring himself to move—he couldn't decide whether it was the bitter cold or the fear that paralyzed him.

He felt a tiny arm wrap around his side. "You okay?"

Nick looked down at the bunny beside him. She was gazing up at him with wide eyes; she had smeared blood all over her face, mud across her forehead and down her neck, and snow was packed heavily into her fur. That's when he realized why he was so scared—he wasn't scared to jump on that bear's back. That's not what scared him the most.

It was when he watched her blood seep through her clothes. It was when he first smelled it.

Nick suddenly remembered that Judy was hurt; he whipped his head toward her scratches, looking at the way she was trying to press her tiny paw against the large wound. "Oh my God," Nick managed, pushing her paw away and pressing his bigger one against it. Her blood was hot; it filled his nostrils. "I don't know what the _hell_ you were thinking."

"I was protecting civilians," she coughed, wincing with the newfound pressure. "It's my job."

"Don't _ever_ do dumb shit like that again, do you hear me? Ever."

She gazed up at him with amusement and a little bit of pain—she let her head fall against his chest. Nick knew she could hear his rapidly-beating heart. "No promises, Slick." A patch of mud appeared where her temple touched his vest.

Relief flushed through him when he heard the sound of sirens and the whirring crunch of off-road snow tires getting closer.

Nick couldn't help but smile at Judy. She was beautiful. "And what did I tell you about him eating you up like a carrot popsicle? If you had brought a coat this wouldn't have happened." Nick couldn't understand why he was deciding to banter _now._

Regardless, Judy rolled her eyes and gave him a snicker. He could still smell earthy tea past the blood; it was on her breath. "I'll be sure to remember that."

The next thing he knew, medics were surrounding them with bandages, shock blankets, and water; EMTs were hauling the bear into an ambulance.

…..

Bogo had his disposable cell phone pressed against his ear; he was taking longer to pick up than before.

Bogo had been there since Wilde had taken off in a stupidity sprint towards the bear. He had instructed his officers to stand back; there wasn't much good anyone could have done by that point. The whole time, his button camera was rolling and Jack was watching from the other end; and, amazingly but not surprisingly, Wilde and Hopps had taken down a rabid polar bear with an unloaded sniper and one of Judy's kicks.

The line rattled; there was a short breath. _"Chief."_

The Chief pulled a small disc, only the size of a sequin, off his middle button; with a tiny crackle, he crushed it between the tips of his hoof. "You've seen what exactly the drug does in person." He glanced over to Wilde and Hopps, who were sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance with medics covering their wounds with gauze. Hopps had gotten a pretty good wound on her side, but she seemed to be holding up fine. "What do you think?"

There was silence for a moment. Bogo waited patiently.

 _"…I think,"_ Jack finally said, his voice as cool as the snow that was packed on the ground, _"that I have myself a very competent team. I appreciate your recommendations."_

….

Sam had spent the past three hours in Jessica's hospital room, making up homework and reviewing his bank account; though, admittedly, most of his focus was on the bank account—calculating expenses for his apartment, medical bills, and now the funeral. He planned on calling Jessica's parents to see if they could help with some of it, but seeing how much attention they paid their daughter in the past, Sam didn't count on it.

The only thing that was saving Sam from going into debt was the fact that he had recently won a scholarship in biochemistry that gave him money back—but after the cost of everything it was barely any profit. He had also been taking off work to stay with Jessica, which meant he wasn't making any money.

Sam felt a mix of relief and fear—he thought for sure that the cost of the funeral and medical bills would suck him dry, but nonetheless, he barely remained in the black. But he was afraid for future costs—how could he pay for next month's rent? He could work overtime, but that would mean skipping class, and that wasn't an option if Sam wanted a degree.

Sam slumped back into his chair with a great sigh, his neck and back aching from hunching over for hours on end; with a groan, he watched the numbers and calculations blur into a messy haze on the pages in front of him.

 _I have to do something besides stress over money for a minute._

He dumped his papers onto a side table, hoping that relieving himself of his work would relieve himself of at least a little bit of stress—it didn't. He smoothed back Jessica's bangs and gave her a quick kiss on her perfect forehead; as he left, he closed the door behind him.

He had stopped at a vending machine to buy a grape soda, and was slurping it as he walked down the hospital hallways; he watched with interest as nurses and doctors passed, pushing patients in wheelchairs or carrying clipboards as they rushed around from point A to point B.

Sam once hoped to be a part of this one day. Not a doctor, but instead working in a lab in a hospital, finding cures for diseases and new medicines that would save lives; most, if not all, aspiring biochemists hope to one day find cures for things like AIDS, malaria, and ebola. Sam's dream was to find a cure for cancer, or at least a therapy that was less harmful than chemotherapy—he realized that this probably wouldn't happen, but he could aspire. Even if he found or developed _one_ thing that could help future biochemists discover the cure for cancer, he would die a happy coyote.

Sam watched a little girl bear, all her fur completely gone, talk to the nurse that was pushing her to her hospital room. He had experienced watching his father slowly die and seeing Jessica tied up to all those machines—not to mention witnessing his mother go through chemotherapy only to be sent home to die…and now, he didn't know if he wanted to work in a hospital anymore. There was so much death.

 _Maybe I can work for an independent laboratory,_ Sam thought to himself as he dodged a doctor rattling off instructions to a secretary.

He took one last sip of his grape soda, crushed the can between two paws, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. He didn't know what he was going to do. All he knew was that he was going to try his hardest to find cures to fight against the evil that people have in their bodies—or put _in_ their bodies, like this drug that killed his father and injured Jessica. He was so close to his degree; he didn't regret for one second taking a full load of summer classes so he could graduate early and move into the Master's program. He was one step closer to helping people like his mother, like Jessica…even like his father.

It made him wonder about the other families who had relatives that died from the drug. Even though Jeremy Packard was an asshole and ruined Sam's life, he was still Sam's father. Sam still had those memories from when his mother was still alive and his dad was happy, and they would go to the park every Saturday and get ice cream from the ice cream truck every Thursday after school.

Did the other families have those memories, like he did with his dad? Happy ones, now tainted with bitterness and heartbreak?

A pang of sorrow stabbed in Sam's heart as he pushed through a set of double doors, not bothering to look at the sign to see where he was going. There was still hope for Jeremy Packard—hope that he would finally understand Sam, that he would give Jessica a chance despite her different species.

But now there was no chance whatsoever. All because of this drug. His dad was dead, and Jessica would be forever scarred.

Sam was suddenly pulled from his thoughts when he realized that there was nobody around him. No doctors rushing to and fro, no nurses pulling gurneys or patients pushing their IV poles beside them like sad pet lizards on limp leashes. The hallway was completely empty. He heard muffled laughing nearby, however; when he looked through the thin glass window on the nearest door, he saw he was looking into a breakroom; around the table sat five mammals. They all had coffee, sandwiches, and doughnuts scattered amongst papers and laptops. A meeting of doctors, maybe?

 _No, not doctors,_ Sam told himself as focused from the mammals to the whiteboard across the room—there was a sixth mammal, a zebra, writing out a complicated equation that Sam recognized immediately. _These guys are biochemists…that must mean there's a lab nearby._ His heart did an excited jump at the thought.

He looked down the length of the hallway to see if there were any more rooms; there were four doors. Two side by side in the middle of the hallway, one small door that appeared to be an entrance to a janitor's closet, and a larger door with push bar at the opposite end.

He glanced back in the breakroom. They seemed to be in a heavy discussion about the equation on the board; two mammals were scribbling out equations now. It was a biophysics equation—it looked like they were trying to figure out how exactly how proteins were affected in a specific specimen. Sam couldn't help but study the problem for a moment. He was taking a Principles of Molecular Biophysics class that semester, and the more he learned in the class the more he enjoyed it; he was a little more than proud that he could follow along with these biochemists, who would have had PhDs and Doctorates.

Sam glanced back down the hallway to the large door at the end. He wondered if their lab was through that door…

 _No, Samuel. No. You will not go and contaminate anything. They could be figuring out the antidote for the drug, and you could go and mess everything up._

But he could just peek inside. He'd only ever seen the laboratory at his college—he had never seen, well…a lab where they were getting shit _done_. Their lab was used students how to properly handle samples, professors trying to force them to become enthusiastic about a General Education class.

 _Yeah,_ he convinced himself, stepping away from the breakroom. _Just a peek inside. No harm done, right?_

When Sam approached the door and pushed it open, he saw that it didn't lead to a laboratory; it led to a stairwell, one that was big and echoey, all grey cement and iron handrails—not a drop of paint in sight.

The booming sound of the door closing behind him was almost as loud as the beating of his heart. _Oh god, what I'm doing right now is probably so illegal._ He looked down the stairwell, spotting another door with a keypad at the bottom. _What the heck. What are they going to do, arrest me? Put me in jail? When I have Jessica to support and a father to bury?_

Truth was, Sam was very scared that that could happen. He went down the stairs anyway, his stomach tightening and sweat beading beneath his fur, despite the heavy use of air conditioning inside the building.

Sam approached the door, and saw that the keypad was not, in fact, a keypad, but a card reader—one that you slide a card into instead of swiping. It probably read a microchip on the biochemists' work IDs…which meant that without an ID, Sam couldn't get in. Or, peek. Whatever the case, it was looking like he couldn't open the door.

But whether luck, destiny, or karma was on his side, something was. A card was stuck in the reader. Upon closer inspection, it was the zebra's ID; a fellow by the name of Carlton J. Quagga.

Upon discovering this card, Sam knew two things: one, he couldn't take out the card because that would be record of Dr. Quagga opening the door when he didn't—and two, the presence of the card in the reader could mean that the door was unlocked.

So, to see, Sam twisted the handle and pushed. The door was, in fact, unlocked—Sam felt a confusing combination of fear and giddy anticipation. His heart leapt, but his stomach sank. He supposed a part of him was hoping the door was locked so he wouldn't be tempted to sate his curiosity…but it was open, so he was tempted.

Sam gulped and swung the door all the way inside.

The laboratory was beautiful, if a laboratory could be beautiful. Everything was shining stainless steel, bright fluorescent lights, and clean white walls; there were huge vault doors that could only lead to amazingly spacious freezers and refrigerators. The lab equipment looked very high-end; there was a wall dividing the room in the middle, the other side Sam figured to be the high-hazard zone. Crammed into a corner away from the equipment was a card table scattered with notes to keep paper and lead pencil away from the samples, with a large cork board above it tacked with DNA frames and other various notes.

If you put Jessica in there, wearing his favorite blue dress and holding a plate of her to-die-for double fudge brownies, he would be in absolute heaven.

Sam knew the second he walked into the room that he would not "just peek in"—this was too interesting, and he was just too curious—so he grabbed a pair of reusable gloves he found at the door and slipped them over his paws. He may be a trespasser, but at least he was a _polite_ trespasser.

Any mammal not affiliated with biochemistry would first go to the lab equipment, fascinated with how they may work—they may go to peek into the freezer or refrigerator to see if samples and test tubes were bright colors and slapped with huge hazard symbols like on TV. But if one was a biochemistry student, he or she would already know what all the lab equipment does…and, to top it off, they would be smart enough not to walk into a laboratory freezer or refrigerator without looking at an inventory first.

No. A biochemistry student in a functioning lab would make a beeline for the notes the scientists took; which is exactly what Sam did.

He approached the table with a hammering heart, his eyes already fixed onto the strands of DNA and microscopic pictures of proteins tacked to the corkboard. There was an empty, heavily insulated lunchbox on the back corner of the table, its contents—a bag of cricket chips and a water bottle, both sealed—were sitting beside it. His mouth started to taste like pennies—the way it does right before he's about to puke—as he leaned down to read the notes on the table, the writing all scribbles and illegible cursive.

Fortunately, being a biochemistry student, Sam was well-practiced in reading scientist chicken-scratch. One of the papers on the top of the pile read:

 _Jeremy Packard, Sample #7: Results_

Sam's stomach twisted gruesomely at the words; he straightened with a gasp. _Oh my god._ He looked again at the DNA strands and pictures of proteins on the board…it was like he was gazing at them through a pair of sunglasses, or the florescent lights in the lab suddenly changed their brightness. _Are one of these my dad's DNA? Are these his proteins?_

He continued to read.

 _Observations from various tests, which follow, display no explanation as to why J.P. was exhibiting an overly-aggressive nature._ _Liver failure suggests overuse of drug._

But was his dad poisoned, or did he take the drug voluntarily?

 _Drug is most likely injected directly into the bloodstream, due to its high potency._

Sam couldn't deny that he could definitely see his dad abusing drugs; he abused alcohol, after all.

 _Sample #7 of 52 samples displayed no new information. 10 samples will be tested, and then the process will rotate back to the samples of previous specimens so we may compare the results more closely._

 _Friendly reminder to Gary: DON'T PUT THE SAMPLES IN THE FREEZER._

Sam blinked, trying to process this information. _That's probably what they were debating over in the breakroom_ , he thought to himself. _The application of the equation to this makes perfect sense._

He pushed that paper to the side to see if there was another written copy of the work they had been doing on the whiteboard. Sam studied it closely, picking it up and staring at it with squinted eyes.

He noticed a small error in their work. _I hope that this is only the first time they solved this, because their process isn't completely correct._ Glancing down the remainder of the scribbles, his brow furrowed. _Wait, this is wrong, too._ _How could they have PhDs and get this problem wrong?_

In their defense, Sam considered the fact that this probably wasn't the only thing the biochemists were trying to find cures or antidotes for. They were probably burnt out, understandably…but the other part of Sam told him, _Dude, these are mammals'_ lives. _They need to pay closer attention._

"It's probably just one of many versions of the problem," he whispered to himself…out of curiosity, he spread a stack of banana-yellow notebook pages across the table like clumsily spreading a deck of cards. He was right—there were pages stapled together with the same equation but with different results on each page, both drastic and slight.

 _Wow. They're having trouble, for sure._ And understandably; Sam had never before seen such a complex problem. The biochemists have a lot of different elements to tie in together—not just samples from his father, but also the samples from all the other victims before him.

 _If you can call them victims_ , Sam thought to himself, bitterness raising like bile in his throat.

Sam couldn't help but pick up the whole stack and sift through it, looking at each error or change in the other versions of the problem; occasionally, he would glance toward the cracked door behind him, just in case the hospital's biochemists returned to test more samples.

There are two things that everybody should know about Sam: the first is that Sam is overly curious, even nosy. Sam has a horrible habit of eavesdropping, and—more applicable to now—poking around where he shouldn't be poking around. It's not that Sam is a bad fellow that wants to be in everyone's business, absolutely not—it's that Sam simply craves information, like one would crave to scratch an awful itch. All mammals have that desire for more information and greater knowledge, but for Sam, it feels to him that it is more of a _need._

This leads to the second thing that everyone should know about Sam, which is that he cannot leave anything unfinished. This is partly why he makes such a good biochemistry student and has the potential to be a great biochemist—because he can't stand to leave questions unanswered. Sam craves information, and when the information he is given is incomplete or leaves him with more questions, he can't leave it alone until his questions are answered. This is another reason why mammals see Sam as a nosy guy.

So, naturally, Sam wanted very badly to go and look at the samples himself, particularly his dad's samples. Of course, as a biochemistry student, he wanted to see what exactly these biochemists were straining over; just looking at unsolved problems wasn't enough, at least for Sam.

For the record, Sam did try to convince himself otherwise—to just set down the papers and walk out, don't worry about the samples. _Wait, what happens if they find my DNA in one of the samples?_

But Sam knew the proper ways not to contaminate samples. He'd been trained heavily in that practice.

 _But oh, man, Jessica would rip me a new one if she found out. Judy too. Plus, I can't pay court costs._

That is, if he got caught.

It didn't take long for him to make his decision. He took one of the scrap papers with the problem on it, folded it up, and put it in the pocket of his jeans. It had a coffee stain on it, they wouldn't miss it.

Sam took a deep breath, as if it would settle his heart. Before he could change his mind, though, he rushed over to the refrigerator, twisted the massive metal handle, and pulled.

He was greeted with a flush of dry, cold air. It felt amazing; he had been hot and sweaty under his flannel shirt, mostly because of nervousness.

The walls of the massive refrigerator were lined with industrial metal shelves, test tube holders with various sealed samples organized neatly into categories. The fluorescent light of the fridge gave the corners of the grey walls an ominous darkness, beakers casting slight shadows onto the stainless steel below them like reflections of a ghost on a lake.

Maybe it seemed so creepy to Sam because he was scared out of his wits.

Despite the growing bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, Sam ventured further into the fridge anyway; he glanced across the labels in front of the rows of sample tubes. They were black text on laminated white paper, stuck with heavy-duty tape to the shelves below the tubes. He read off the names aloud on the labels, touching them with the tips of his laboratory gloves as he went. "…Unknown Drug, _Iratus Venenum_."

Sam had to appreciate their creativity. They had named the drug _angry poison_ in Latin. Very fitting; the drug seemed more like a poison than an actual drug, anyway. At least, a poison to the community.

There were little stickers with names on each of the little test tubes. "Timothy Lechat," he read on one group of samples. Sam remembered him—he was on the news, a jaguar who attacked and killed one prey and injured a prey and a predator. The news didn't say anything about his death being associated with Iratus Venunum…but the ZPD most likely didn't want the drug publicized. Bogo was probably stretching it just to inform Sam about it.

He continued to skim the sample labels. "Dick Sandeclaw… Julianna Ratel… Kyle Grizzby…" He could remember hearing about Dick Sandeclaw, but he couldn't remember the other two.

"…Jeremy Packard." That name was familiar.

Inside a few of the tubes was blood, so dark it was almost black. Sam felt strange staring at samples of his father's blood, thinking of how his own was bound to it.

In a few of the other tubes were a few hair, skin, and saliva samples—but the blood was what was important. At least, it was as far as Sam knew. He counted them; there were twelve in all, with six blood samples and six of everything else altogether.

 _Didn't the paper on the table say they were only going to test ten of them?_

This is the part where Sam's craving for more information came in. These biochemists didn't know what was going on—and Sam desperately wanted to know. At this point, it was even more than his desire to know more about "Iratus Venunum," it was about his father. It was about Jessica. He wanted to know exactly what killed his father and put Jessica in the hospital.

His biochemist in him was whispering over and over in his ear, _You can figure it out, you can find the antidote, you can prevent anyone else from feeling the way you feel right now…_

So, Sam picked a tube—a blood sample, the one on the very end of the holder—and lifted it off the shelf.

It burned his hand, even through the glove. His father's name on the label burned an imprint into his vision; even when he looked away it was still there, floating in the air.

 _Oh, god, what am I doing?_

The other part of Sam—the daredevil, the risk-taker—wrapped a paw around his heart. _You're taking matters into your own hands, Sam._

With that, the sample gently cradled between the tips of his fingers, he rushed out of the old of the refrigerator and into the open room; he didn't think to check if the biochemists were back yet, but fortunately for him, they hadn't returned.

Sam had to get out of there, but he couldn't just walk out with the sample in his paw—he had to find a way to keep it cold before he could transfer it to another refrigerator.

 _The lunchbox._

He rushed back over to the table again, spotting the lunchbox; it was patiently waiting as if it knew what was about to happen. He grabbed it and turned it upside down over a nearby trash can; crumbs fluttered out.

 _I should protect the sample with something. It can't break, it can't leak…but I can't take their sample boxes, they would notice that._

After a few minutes of rummaging, being careful not to disrupt the current organization of things, Sam found a clean Ziploc bag with a zipper seal; he slipped the sample into it and pressed all the air out before closing it. His paws were shaking horribly.

 _I need cushion._ He didn't know if it would work, but he took off his flannel—the fabric was still cool from being inside the fridge—and wrapped it around the bagged sample to provide shock absorbance and some extra insulation.

After putting the sample inside the lunchbox and zipping it tightly, he glanced around the room to make sure it didn't look like it was disturbed. Hopefully, the only thing the biochemists will notice is the missing lunchbox—and with some luck, they wouldn't notice the missing extra sample, either. At least, they wouldn't notice until they did inventory, which was most likely at the end of the day. With some luck—which the universe _definitely_ owed Sam, after the shit that just happened—whoever will be taking inventory won't pay attention to the lack of another extra sample.

Sam assumed they wouldn't. The drug may be deadly, but it had to be ingested or injected; or else, after all, why would they call it a drug? Any loose sample laying around wouldn't kill anybody, it would just become contaminated.

Sam tugged at the collar of his white t-shirt nervously. He didn't know if that would happen, but he was banking on it.

He hung the lunchbox over his arm as he slid his gloves off, heading toward the cracked door with his heart pounding in his ears. The paper with the problem scribbled on it burned in his pocket, and the tiny sample suddenly felt like a million pounds—but he was going for it, he had gained momentum at this point. He couldn't stop now.

Sam managed to make it up the stairs and out the hallway without attracting any attention.

Twenty minutes later, the door to the laboratory was pushed back open.

"Dammit, I keep leaving my card in the reader," Dr. Quagga murmured, fingering the card in his hoof before re-clipping it to his lab coat.

A leopard slipped past the zebra, giving him a smirk and a pat on the top of his head. "I'll remember this the next time you nag me about putting the wrong samples in the freezer, Carl."

"Oh, stuff it, you quack," Dr. Quagga, his voice a half-laugh.

A hyena with bright blue lipstick filed in after the leopard and the zebra, giving a timid giggle. She adjusted her lab coat around her orange dress, glancing at the two. "Y'all both need to quit nagging. You were at each other's throats over the IV drug during our whole break—we didn't even _get_ a break."

"She's right, you know," came another voice from the hallway.

"Hey," the leopard mentioned, now leaning over the card table with his water in one hand and his cricket chips in the other; his eyes were skimming over the papers with confusion. He bent over to look under the table, and then straightened up to look at his coworkers accusingly. "Where's my lunch box?"

…

 **20,000 words! That's literally double what my chapters usually are. I thought about splitting the chapter in half but then decided that it wouldn't work with the way I had set up the scenes and the way I want to continue it.**

 **And I'll note this—due to the length of the chapter, it was very hard to pick out typos. I hope if there are a lot, it wasn't a big deal to look over them. And AGAIN, if I got any biochemistry stuff wrong, I'm very sorry! I hope that if you noticed any errors, you were able to look over them and enjoy the story anyway. (I don't even know if equations are used in biophysics or biochemistry.)**

 **Lots of stuff happened in this chapter. SO much stuff. Now WCN is gaining momentum, and I hope that it's exciting you guys, because it's exciting me! We know about Nick's mom and how she met John, also getting a closer look at his childhood—Sam was a huge part of this chapter too, obviously. We also know more about the connection with Nick and the owner of the "limousine rental company" (coughcough MR. BIG coughcough). And I finally got to write a scene with Nick and Judy IN ACTION working together! I'm super excited. The next few chapters are going to be so fun to write—and hopefully, for you guys, fun to read!**

 **Also, I'll advertise again: go read some of Hawktooth's stuff! Hawktooth is a great writer, someone I go to for advice and such; absolutely fantastic. Go check it out!**

 **Love y'all. Please leave a review and tell me what you think; I know I'm slow about getting chapters out, and reviews will help get me motivated and push them out faster. I also love to hear all your opinions, advice, etcetera.**

 **Thank you so much for reading my story, I am really and truly thankful.**

… **.**


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